Unexpected Finds
by Snarkymuch
Summary: With May gone, Peter is an orphan and sent to foster care. He doesn't stay long, the abuse he receives there becoming too much. Despite being homeless, he still puts on the suit, Spider-Man getting him through when Peter Parker couldn't. It's a chance encounter that brings Tony and Peter together. *Edited and revised 9/23/2018*
1. Black and Blue

Life has a funny way of working out, how random events can lead you down a path you never saw for yourself. Tony didn't realize when he walked out of his tower that night, sleep-deprived, sock slipping in his shoe, that his life was about to change forever.

The air was cold and damp from the rain earlier in the day. The streets were still puddled with water, and the air smelled like ozone and pollution—it smelled like New York. He looked to see Happy waiting by the car, holding open the door. Tony had no reason to pause and turn at that moment, but he did. It was like he could feel something behind him nudging him to look.

What he saw was something that made him lower his glasses, peeking over the rims. Stretched out on the ledge with his head on a dirty backpack was a scrawny kid. It looked like he was trying to get cover from the weather, sleeping wherever he could. The boy didn't appear more than twelve or thirteen from his size—maybe even younger. It was hard to tell. One thing Tony noticed, though, was how sickly he looked. His skin was pale, making the streaks of dirt stick out. A bruise colored his cheek, and his lip was swollen and split. The picture before him made Tony's stomach twist uncomfortably.

Without thought, his feet brought him forward, maybe a bit too fast, as the kid jumped awake and stumbled to his feet. Tony was a little surprised how quickly the boy moved.

He put up his hands, taking off his glasses and stashing them in his pocket. "Easy, kid," he said. "I'm one of the good guys. I haven't seen you around here before. What's your name?"

The kid shifted his weight between his feet for a second. Tony watched as the kid seemed to weigh his options, his eyes continually searching like he expected danger. Tony was just about to speak again when the kid grabbed his bag and bolted down the street. He was gone and around the corner in a heartbeat. The boy was fast. He'd give him that.

"Dammit." Tony ran a hand through his hair, not sure why he felt so frustrated. It wasn't like the kid was anyone special, but something about him made Tony care. The kid looked so lost.

"Boss?" Happy was beside him, looking confused.

Tony shook his head, grabbing his glasses and putting them back on despite the darkness.

"Nothing. I don't know. There was just some kid here." He played off the encounter despite the nagging feeling of concern. He stepped around Happy and slid into the backseat of the car.

"You want me to notify security. Make sure he doesn't come back?" Happy asked before shutting the door.

"No, it's fine. He's just a kid," Tony said, waving Happy off and signaling the conversation was over.

As the car pulled away from the curb, Tony couldn't help but wonder who the boy was. His heart went out to the kid. He doubted he'd see him again, though. Taking out his phone, his thoughts wandered to the list of projects waiting for him the next day, and he tried to put the night's events behind him.

It wasn't long before he forgot about the encounter. It wasn't hard amidst the chaos of his life. Between the meetings, the projects, and trying to keep the world from being attacked by the latest threat, he was a busy man. It wasn't until he had a moment to escape from the tower on his own that he ran into the boy again.

Wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses for disguise, Tony slipped from his building and onto the sidewalks of New York. There was a small hole in the wall coffee shop a short walk from the tower. He was reasonably sure they knew who he was, but the staff never bothered him. The short walk let him clear his head. Sometimes he needed space, the walls of his workshop feeling tight and all too confining.

When he walked into the shop, he didn't immediately recognize the kid behind the counter, but the sight of him caused him to pause. He looked out of place—not a regular employee. It took a moment of studying him to place his face. Once it clicked, he was sure it was him—the bruised boy he'd met that night.

The kid was standing behind the register, looking much too young to be out of school. He was cleaned up a bit. His bruises were mostly gone, but it didn't help how pale and underfed he looked. Tony imagined a stiff breeze might be enough to knock him over.

He wasn't sure why, but he was curious about the kid. It wasn't entirely unusual for Tony to want to solve puzzles—and this boy definitely was one. He was much too young to be out of school and working. Tony wondered if the kid was homeless or just in a rough home. He hoped no one was hurting the kid. Tony knew first hand what it was like to grow up with someone who used their hands or a belt.

Tony walked up to the counter and pulled his glasses off, slipping them into his pocket. The boy seemed to shrink back as he made eye contact. Tony smiled, knowing the kid recognized him. His eyes drifted to the nametag that looked like it had seen better days—Peter. So that was his name. It wasn't much to go on, but he made a mental note to try to run him when he got back to the tower. Tony never claimed not to be curious, and this was for a good cause. Maybe he could help the kid out a little—make sure he wasn't falling through the cracks.

"W-what can I get you?" the boy finally said, his gaze flitting between Tony and the door like he was silently trying to will him to leave.

Tony studied him for a moment. "Nothing special, a large coffee, black."

Peter nodded. "I … It'll be right up."

The kid was skittish, and Tony didn't like that he was afraid of him. He put his hands in his pocket and watched as Peter poured the coffee. Something caught his eye, though, when Peter stretched out his arm—deep purple bruises. They didn't look like fingerprints, but that didn't mean they weren't. A strange feeling of protectiveness began to bloom in his chest. Both times he'd seen him, he'd been bruised. A bit of anger built in him. Tony had a thing against people who hurt kids.

After a moment, Peter turned, passing the coffee to Tony, the bruises on his wrist on full display. Peter seemed to notice Tony eyeing them as he pulled his arm back quickly and tugged down his sleeve.

"How much do I owe you?" Tony asked, still studying the kid.

"Three dollars."

Tony pulled a fifty from his pocket, passing it over. "Keep the change."

The kid looked like he could use it.

"I can't," Peter stammered out. "It's too much."

"Trust me, kid, that's nothing. Keep it. Buy a burger or two after work. It looks like you could use a meal."

Peter nodded, putting the money in the drawer and separating the change. "Thanks."

"No problem, kid." Tony turned to walk away but stopped as an idea struck him. He spun back around. "You were out in front of my tower the other night, right?"

The boy looked away, a blush touching his cheeks. He shrugged a shoulder as he worried his sleeve.

"It's okay," Tony reassured him. "I mean, if you don't have any place to go—like if it's raining and you need a place to crash, not saying you do, but if you did, it's okay to come inside. God, I'm coming across creepy, aren't I? Shit." He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "It just looks like you could use a safe place. There's no safer place than my tower. Sound good?"

The kid looked up, his mouth moving like he wanted to say something, but after a moment, he just settled on a nod.

"Good, you got a last name I can leave with security?"

The boy licked his lips, looking around before giving the smallest of nods. "Parker. Peter Parker."

Tony smiled. "I'll let them know."

Tony didn't know if he'd take him up on the offer, but he hoped he would. It was clear the kid needed someone in his corner.

When he got back to the tower, he had FRIDAY search for records on Peter Parker. What he found even made his iron-clad emotions rise to the surface. Peter had lost family member after family member. Everyone he had was dead. The last—his aunt—died not more than a year ago. Protective Services had placed him in various foster homes, but he had run away from them all. He disappeared from his last home months ago.

Tony sipped his coffee as he looked over the records projected in front of him. Peter wasn't enrolled in school—not that he'd expected it. What did catch his eye were his previous grades. The kid had was smart. He was near the top of his class before his aunt passed away.

He sighed. It was strange how invested he was becoming with a kid he had only met twice, especially since kids really weren't his thing. It wasn't like he hated them, but he didn't have the patience. In all honesty, he knew he was a shitty role model, and being around them did more harm than good.

He knew this Child Protective's job to handle, not his. He should just call up the authorities and let them know where to find him and be done with it. It was that simple, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He couldn't shake the memory of those damned doe eyes looking back at him. It made him have feelings—which was frankly disturbing. Feelings were squishy things he tried to avoid.

Sighing, he scrubbed a hand over his face. What the hell—in for a penny, in for pound. "FRIDAY, you know who you're looking for—Peter Parker. You see him lurking, let me know immediately and give him access to the lobby. I don't care about the time. Wake me up. Got it, girl?"

"Sure thing, boss."

Days passed, and there was no sign of Peter. Tony went to the coffee shop each day, hoping to see him, but nothing. He asked the shop manager, but she said he had quit days ago. Tony felt a twinge of worry. With no job, he probably had little money. The change from the fifty Tony had paid with wouldn't go far. He could only hope Peter was safe, but from the bruises Tony had seen on him, he knew he probably wasn't.

Stressed, head hurting, Tony walked into the common room. Bruce was there with Natasha, making lunch. They looked up when he walked in.

He was immediately greeted by Natasha.

"Wow, no offense, Tony, but you look like shit," she said. "You getting enough sleep these days?"

Tony waved her off and plonked down on the couch, kicking his feet up. He threw his arm over his eyes, sighing. He was exhausted, but his brain just wouldn't shut up and let him sleep.

"You alright, Tony?" Bruce's voice came from the kitchen area.

"Fine," Tony mumbled. "Just need sleep."

"Alright, well, lunch will be ready in a few if you want to join us," Bruce offered.

Tony didn't answer. He was busy remembering the kid as he tried to cover his bruises from Tony's view. He should have asked questions—he should have done more. It was clear the kid was in trouble.

Tony heard the elevator door open. He lifted his arm and looked over the edge of the couch. It was Clint, shuffling in, looking tired and still in pajamas.

"Morning," Clint yawned.

Tony flopped his arm back over his eyes.

"What's up with him?" Tony heard Clint ask.

"One of his moods," Natasha said.

Tony pushed himself up to sit forward, looking over at them. "I'm not in a mood. Why do you always think I'm in a mood?"

"Because you are?" Clint answered, laughing. "You're the moodiest bitch around here—other than Thor when he doesn't get the remote." Clint grabbed a bowl from the cupboard. "Hey, topic change, you guys see the news the other day? Our little friendly neighborhood Spider-Man stopped one hell of bank robbery." He grabbed the cereal. "Alien tech involved."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Don't start. He's lucky is all." He got up and walked over to the kitchen. "And speaking of, we need to track that tech."

"Hey, dudes got some skills is all I'm saying," Clint said. "You should have seen the hits he took and still kept fighting. I don't care what kinda mutations he's got. I bet he's feeling that fight."

"The guy is a vigilante," Tony said, picking the croutons out of the salad Natasha was making and popping them in his mouth.

She swatted his hand away. "Tony, you look like you've barely slept."

"I'm fine."

He was answered by a chorus of scoffs.

"Whatever." He scrubbed his hands over his face, rubbing his tired eyes. They burned from little sleep.

"What's eating you so much? Haven't seen you like this in a long time," Natasha asked.

FRIDAY's voice interrupted. "Sir, Peter Parker has arrived at the tower. Where shall I direct him?"

"Tell him to wait there. I'll be right down."

"Who's Peter?" Bruce said.

Everyone seemed to be looking to him for an explanation, but he wasn't about to explain. Tony had other priorities. He jogged toward the elevator, quickly slipping inside. The elevator didn't seem to move fast enough. He sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck in frustration, tapping his foot. Patience wasn't something he was blessed with.

When he stepped out of the elevator, he looked around. His eyes quickly fell on Peter, and he looked like shit. He was beaten to a pulp. He had molted bruises on his face; his eye was swollen shut. Tony's stomach did a flip. He took purposeful strides to the boy. Without saying a word, his hand reached out and took his chin gently, turning his head side to side as he took in the damage. Tony's blood was beginning to boil. He'd find who hurt him and he'd kill them.

"Christ," Tony breathed.

Peter seemed overwhelmed and stepped back, snapping Tony out of it. He realized the kid looked about ready to run again. He debated on telling FRIDAY to lock the building, but he didn't.

"Sorry, kid," Tony said. "Didn't mean to scare you. I just … Jesus, kid." He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes focused on the bruises. "You're gonna be alright. We'll figure this out. I won't let this happen to you again."

Peter's eyes went wide. "No, umm … that's not why I'm here. I just … I know you said I could come here and …" He looked everywhere but at Tony. "I'm just tired and kinda hungry. I haven't eaten for a day or two and … I'm sorry. I should go. This was a bad idea. I—"

"Peter, wait. It's fine. I offered, remember?" Tony said, reaching out to him and putting a hand on his shoulder. "How about some lunch? I know just where we can steal some."

Peter looked like he was about to run, and Tony sucked in a breath. He'd made up his mind. He wasn't letting the kid out of his sight again—not until he knew what was going on. He would grab him if he had to. Thankfully, it wasn't necessary. Maybe it was exhaustion or hunger, but his shoulders dropped, and he nodded.

"Good," Tony said, letting out the breath he'd been holding. "Come on. I've got some people for you to meet."


	2. Let Me Run

The elevator smoothly lifted beneath Peter's feet, making him feel weightless for a moment. He wasn't even sure what he was doing in the tower—what had made him walk through those doors. Peter had told himself he was going to stay away, that he didn't need help or adults trying to control him, but part of him must have thought otherwise because that was where he found himself, standing beside Tony Stark, heading up to an uncertain fate.

As the elevator climbed, he knew it was too late to change his mind. He didn't think Mr. Stark was going to let him go without a meal, and truth be told, he was hungry—starving, in fact. His increased metabolism was killing him—the way his body burned through his fat and muscle stores if he didn't eat enough was dangerous. Living on the streets had taken its toll on him. He hadn't had a home-cooked meal since his Aunt May died, and without a place to live, it was nearly impossible to find enough to eat. He'd turned into a skeleton as he kept pushing his body to be Spider-Man, his muscles being eaten away to sustain himself. It was only a matter of time before he pushed too far.

The recent battle at the bank was a testament to his weakening condition. The news had praised him for foiling the robbery, but they didn't know how close it had come to losing the fight. He took more hits than he should have—his reflexes slower and senses dulled from lack of nutrition. His healing was barely doing its job. He desperately needed food and rest, and he knew it.

When he'd made it out of the bank—villains webbed to the floor—he climbed to a nearby rooftop where he collapsed. He'd spent days up there, curled on his side with an aching belly and sore body as he tried to recover.

With nowhere else to turn, he found him himself standing in front of the intimidating Avenger's tower. It made him feel so small in its shadow. He worried if he went in, Mr. Stark would call Child Protective Services. It was almost enough to keep him from walking through doors. He wouldn't go back to another home—not after what had happened in the last one. He didn't have any other place to turn, though, and really, if he couldn't trust Iron Man, who could he trust?

That's how he found himself in the elevator, his weathered backpack slung over his shoulder beside the most unlikely person, his nerves on edge. He chewed his lip as the elevator climbed.

Mr. Stark seemed to notice he was nervous. He looked over and tried to smile in a way that Peter thought was meant to be reassuring, but it just made him look nervous, too. Peter hoped he was making the right decision trusting him.

The elevator slowed and came to a stop. Peter's heart began to pound in his chest. The idea of meeting people terrified him. The older man hadn't said who they were meeting.

Peter fidgeted with his hands, tugging his sleeves down, his shoulders turned inward. He was trying to shrink back into himself— a habit from his last home. Being able to make himself shrink into the background had saved him a few times. He could face off against anyone as Spider-Man. Peter Parker couldn't, though, so he took his beatings when they came.

The door opened, but his mind was elsewhere—back with his last foster family. He stumbled backward until he hit the wall. His breaths coming in hitched gasps.

He barely noticed Mr. Stark walking around in front of him, ducking his head to look at him. He slipped a finger under Peter's chin, lifting his head to meet his gaze.

"You're okay, Peter," he said. "No one will hurt you here."

That broke Peter out of his thoughts. He blinked, taking in Tony's concerned expression. It had been so long since someone cared. It felt foreign.

Mr. Stark dropped his hand, eyes searching Peter's face. "You good?"

Peter's rubbed his palms on the dirty denim of his jeans. Licking his lips, he tried to focus and calm down. He'd always had anxiety—even before his Uncle Ben had died. It was just part of who he was.

One breath in.

One breath out.

Just like Aunt May had taught him.

He glanced at Mr. Stark. The man was running a shaky hand through his hair, looking between Peter and whatever waited outside the elevator.

Hearing footsteps, Peter looked around Mr. Stark and was shocked by who he saw. He recognized the woman immediately. The Avengers were always on the news. It was Black Widow, which meant he was probably meeting even more Avengers. Most people would be excited, but he was nervous. It wouldn't take much for them to snoop around and put things together. Spider-Man was all he had. He couldn't risk them finding out.

She looked between Mr. Stark and him for a moment, then her gaze settled on Peter, making him fidget beneath the intensity.

"Tony?" she asked, her expression giving little away. "Who's your friend?"

Mr. Stark straightened and turned to her. "Just what you said—a friend." He shrugged. "I thought I'd bring him to lunch."

"A friend?" she asked slowly. "Maybe he should go to medical."

At the mention of being examined, Peter tensed and drew back tighter against the wall. He couldn't stop his head from shaking. "I won't go."

Mr. Stark put up his hands. "Hey, it's fine. No medical. I promised you food. You'll get food—nothing more."

Her lips thinned. "He doesn't look—"

"He looks fine," Tony said, cutting her off. "You're fine, right, kid?" He glanced back at him, eyebrows raised.

Peter nodded, not sure what else to do.

"Does your friend have a name?" she asked, tilting her head.

"Of course, he has a name," Mr. Stark snapped, "and stop looking at him like that. You're making him uncomfortable."

Her head straightened, and she smirked. "Sorry, it's just not often we have company."

"Well, no, but we do today," Mr. Stark said. "Anyway, Peter"—He turned and motioned to him—"meet Natasha. Natasha, meet Peter. He needs a little something to eat and place to kick his feet up for a bit. Big tower, lots of room. I offered. Any more questions?"

She shook her head. "Welcome, Peter. I hope to learn all about you."

Tony narrowed his eyes at her, and they had a silent conversation. Natasha ended it with a raised brow and a smirk. Tony huffed as she turned and stepped out of the elevator.

"How about we get out of here," Mr. Stark said, looking to Peter. "That's if you're ready?"

Peter nodded and took a hesitant step forward. Mr. Stark let him pass, putting a hand on his shoulder, guiding him out. Peter cringed a bit at the touch. He wasn't used to being touched—not in kindness.

The room he walked into was huge. The large space was partially divided into a living area and what looked like a kitchen and dining area. Everything screamed expensive—things Peter would never have. It felt surreal.

Looking around, he saw there two other people he hadn't met yet, and they were both staring at him. He swallowed hard as he shifted his weight between his feet, feeling uncomfortable under their scrutinizing stares.

In the living room was a man with short hair, a hard jawline. He was in flannel pajama bottoms and a purple t-shirt perched on the arm of the couch. He looked familiar, and Peter tried to place his face. Then his eye caught the bullseye on the man's shirt, and then it clicked. He must be Hawkeye.

Sitting at the counter in the kitchen was a man with mousey brown hair and glasses. He smiled and greeted Peter's gaze with a nod. Peter had no idea who this guy was, but there was a warmth in his eyes that calmed his nerves.

Tony gently nudged Peter further into the room. He felt like an animal on exhibit. With nowhere to hide, Peter dropped his head, looking at his frayed shoelaces.

"How about some introductions," Mr. Stark said with a smile. "The bird brain over there in the PJ's is Clint. The guy eating his fourth meal of the day is Bruce, and you met Natasha. Everyone, this is Peter."

Peter raised his head and gave them a small wave. It was overwhelming, to say the least. He chewed on his lip as he took in their presence. They seemed friendly enough, but it was hard to trust people after all he'd been through.

There was an awkward silence in the room, as everyone seemed to be waiting for someone to speak first. Mr. Stark glanced at Peter and frowned, maybe seeing the way Peter was beginning to shake, and broke the tension. It was a welcomed relief.

"Look, no need to stare," Mr. Stark said. "Maybe later we can all visit later if Peter's up to it, but for now, he needs a meal and some rest."

"Tony—" Bruce went to speak, but Mr. Stark cut him off, putting up a hand.

"We can talk later," Mr. Stark said. "Peter, come with me."

Mr. Stark tried to put a hand on his back, but Peter took a step forward, cringing a bit as he tried to avoid it. Thankfully, Mr. Stark seemed to notice he didn't like it and dropped his hand without making a big deal about it.

Peter followed Mr. Stark to the kitchen area and watched as the older man filled a plate with food, more than Peter had eaten in a week. Peter's stomach growled. With a little bit of everything on his plate, including two burgers and fries, Mr. Stark handed it to him. "Eat up. Sit wherever you want. We have every channel if you want to watch some TV, or you can—"

"I'll just sit here," Peter said, walking to the counter and pulling up a seat on one of the stools near Bruce. His aunt never let him eat anywhere other than the table. Even though she was gone, he felt like he should still respect her rules.

Mr. Stark nodded and leaned back against the sink, watching him with interest as he began to eat.

It tasted amazing. It was the first warm food in days. The ache in his stomach began to fade as he devoured one of the burgers. He knew he must look a little feral as he stuffed the food into his mouth. The dizziness he'd been feeling started to fade as the carbohydrates hit him, raising his blood sugar. Even his senses seemed to sharpen a bit. Without adequate food, everything had been dialed down, both his senses and his healing. A good meal like this would go a long way toward helping him heal from his latest injuries. They probably wouldn't even have happened if his senses hadn't been so hit or miss.

"You know, I'd prefer to not have to do the Heimlich on you, so maybe slow down a bit," Mr. Stark said with a chuckle.

Peter could feel a blush spread over his cheeks, and he glanced up from his food. "Sorry, Mr. Stark."

The man shook his head. "It's fine. Don't apologize. Just don't choke, and it's just Tony, okay? Mr. Stark reminds me of my father. Long story, but I'm not him. Please, just call me Tony."

Peter swallowed and nodded, going back to his food, trying to take slower bites even though his body begged him to inhale it.

"So, what do you like to do, Peter?" Bruce asked from beside him.

Peter's heart began to beat a bit faster, unsure of how to answer. Looking between Tony and Bruce, he licked his lips and spoke, "Read, I guess."

Bruce nodded, stabbing a forkful of salad and stuffing it in his mouth.

Peter looked back to his food, picking at his fries, beginning to regret how fast he ate as his stomach was aching for the opposite reason now. He should have paced himself. Eating a full meal after only scraps was a big change.

"Feeling better?" Tony asked, stealing a fry. "Looks like you slowed down. I thought you were gonna eat the plate for a minute."

"Yeah, I'm feeling better," Peter said. "It was perfect. I'm sorry I can't finish everything."

He looked longingly at the leftover food. He wished he could keep the scraps. It was almost another meal's worth. He watched sadly as Tony reached over the island and took his plate, scraping it into the trash.

Natasha walked over beside Bruce. Her gaze fell on Peter for a moment before switching to Tony. Peter couldn't get a good read on her and decided to be cautious for now. She didn't wear her emotions for others to read.

"Tony," she said. "Can I talk to you please—privately?"

Tony scrubbed his hands over his face and nodded, then pointing his finger at Peter, he said, "You stay. I'll be right back. Talk to Bruce. He's fun a guy. He's got this great party trick—"

"Tony," Bruce warned. "Why don't you go to talk with Natasha. I'll chat with Peter. Maybe compare favorite books. Sound good, Peter?"

Peter didn't want to talk. He was already feeling his strength returning, and he didn't want to hang around longer than he needed. The longer Peter stayed, the more questions there would be. He shifted uncomfortably but finally decided that he would play along for the moment. If he thought running from Child Protective Services was hard, he imagined trying to run from the Avengers would be near impossible.

He let out a breath and nodded, listening to Bruce chatter on about his favorite books. Peter answered his questions, nodding along. The truth was, he wasn't paying attention to what Bruce was saying, he was listening to Tony and Natasha in the other room. Peter's hearing was sharp enough that he could easily eavesdrop.

 _"Who is he, Tony, really?"_ Natasha whispered.

 _"He's just a kid,"_ Tony said. _"He needs some help, someone to look out for him. He's on his own."_

 _"Tony, you can't just steal someone's kid."_

He heard Tony scoff. _"First, I didn't just steal someone's kid. I'm like ninety-nine percent sure he's homeless. Second, obviously, he's in trouble. Did you see his face?"_

 _"Of course, I saw the bruises_ ," Natasha said. _"I'm not blind. As much as I want to help, this isn't our area, Tony. We aren't the police. We need to call the authorities and get him some help."_

 _"He'll just run. He's run before, and I bet he'll just run again."_

 _"So, you've looked into him already?"_ She asked.

 _"Did you think I wouldn't?"_ Tony asked. _"I look into everything. You know I hate surprises."_

Tony was sounded like he was getting annoyed and It seemed like Natasha wanted Peter gone. The last thing he wanted was to cause trouble.

He heard Natasha's breathy sigh. _"You're not taking this as seriously as you should. If he's homeless, that's more reason to get him help."_

 _"They'll stick him in another home! No one deserves a life bouncing between homes. We have to do something. I feel kinda responsible for him. I found him_."

 _"Where's he gonna go tonight?"_

That question piqued Peter's interest. He focused on the voices—not wanting to miss the answer. Bruce was still carrying on about his favorite books.

 _"I don't know—stay here?"_ Tony half asked after a moment. _"It's not like we don't have the room, and whoever is using him as a punching bag won't be able to get to him."_

 _"I don't like this,"_ she said.

 _"You don't have, too. This one is on me."_

 _"And what if he doesn't want to stay? You can't make him."_

 _"Can't I?"_ Tony said. _"If it means keeping him safe, I can."_

That was enough for Peter. After dealing with Jack at his last foster home, he wasn't going to risk getting in another bad situation. He jumped from the stool, grabbing his bag. Startled, Bruce nearly fell from his seat. "Peter?"

He wasn't looking back, he ran toward the elevators, the sound of footsteps behind him pushing him forward.

"Peter, wait!" Bruce shouted.

Peter looked over his shoulder just in time to see Clint jump up from the couch, leaping over the back and reaching for him. Peter spun low and dodged, a leg kicking out and swiping Clint's feet from beneath him. The archer fell back onto the floor before quickly pushing himself back to his feet. Bruce grabbed his arm, but Peter used a bit of his strength and shook him off. Clint tried to make another grab for him, but Peter was already diving into the elevator, slamming the button to close the doors once inside.

His heart pounded in his chest and his hands fisted at his sides as he waited for the elevator to reach ground level.

When the doors of the elevator opened, and Peter bolted for the exit. He was almost free. He ran for the door, but when he reached them, he slammed into them. They didn't budge. They were locked. He could probably break them, but he couldn't risk exposing himself. Sighing, he turned and leaned against them, looking up at the ceiling and wondering how long before someone came down for him.

He didn't need to wait long. A few minutes later, the elevator he'd taken opened and Tony stepped out. "Damn, kid, you move fast. I think Clint's ego is gonna be bruised for weeks," he said, a small smile touching his lips, though his eyes were sad.

Peter swallowed nervously, his lips pursing. "Is he mad?"

Tony's mouth twitched. "No, he's not mad—no one is mad at you."

Peter pulled his bottom lip between teeth, worrying it. It was a nervous habit.

"Look," Tony said, "I know you don't want to stay, but I don't want to hear about you being found dead in some alley either. I know more is going on with you than you say—not that you've much." He looked at Peter seriously. "It's okay, though. I'm not asking for explanations. Well, maybe later, just not right now. Right now, I just want to know you're not getting beat up. So humor me and stay tonight. You'd be doing me a favor. I'd sleep better knowing you're safe."

Peter looked at him for a minute, thinking over what he said. He had a feeling that staying wasn't optional, despite the wording. This was a 'do it the easy way or the hard way' type of thing. He either stayed by choice or force. He was tired, though, and he hadn't been healing well. One night wouldn't be the end of the world.

He sighed and relaxed his posture a bit, his shoulders dropping.

"So, you'll stay?" Tony asked, rocking back on his heels.

Peter nodded, hoping he wasn't making a mistake. He wasn't used to people caring, and it seemed Tony did—even if Peter didn't understand why.

"Good. Come on, let's go see how Clint's ego is doing," Tony said, walking to the elevator and opening the doors. "He's probably up there icing his butt as we speak."


	3. Down the Rabbit Hole

Tony leaned against the wall of the elevator as it climbed, his hands in his pockets. He was trying to appear calm, but he was pretty sure he'd just sprouted gray hairs. When FRIDAY had alerted him that Peter had run, it felt like that floor had dropped from under him. There was still too much that Tony didn't know to let Peter go back out there. He wanted the kid to have at least one night of rest; he looked awful.

He wasn't sure he liked the feelings that were being stirred up in him. It's not like he was a sociopath, emotionless, but he was better at compartmentalizing than your average person. Everything had a box and place in his mind; emotions made things messy if left to run amuck. He liked his life organized—even though looking at his workstations, you'd think otherwise.

Peter was like a wrench thrown in the works, bringing Tony's smooth-running systems to a halt, leaving him panicking over things he never thought he would—like the safety of a kid that wasn't his.

He didn't have a box for Peter. He was an anomaly. There was no good reason Tony should be getting so attached, yet there he was, acting like a mother hen. Something about Peter brought out his protective instincts.

Tony glanced at Peter, checking that he was still there beside him, his irrational worry coming to the surface again. It was ridiculous. It wasn't even like Peter could go anywhere. They were in an elevator. Tony felt like he was losing his mind. This is why he didn't do emotions. They made no sense.

Something caught his eye as he looked at him, though. He noticed he was fidgeting with his hands again, something Tony had seen him doing before. Probably a nervous habit. He always looked anxious. It bothered Tony. He could see some more bruises peeking out around the cuffs of his sleeves, too. Tony had to clench his jaw to keep from asking about them—now wasn't the time.

Peter seemed to notice him looking and pulled his hands into his sleeves. Tony immediately regretted staring. There was so much he wanted to ask, but he knew he couldn't push. He was going to have to go slow, to have patience. Right now, Peter seemed to be acting on pure instinct—like a caged animal, wanting help but too afraid to let someone close enough to open the door.

Tony hated that someone had done this to him, broken him down like this. He wondered what Peter was like before he lost the last of his family. Tony couldn't help but wish he could make the kid laugh.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, itching for a drink to numb the feelings he was having.

The elevator doors opened when they reached their floor, and to his surprise, Peter picked up his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and hesitantly stepped out the door. He couldn't help but smile at the improvement. At least he wasn't fighting him on this.

Peter seemed to pause when he saw Clint, maybe worried what the other man would say, but relaxed when the archer smiled.

"Nice moves, kid," Clint said, giving him a pat on the shoulder. "I'm impressed."

Tony could swear he saw Peter flinch when Clint touched him. He'd noticed him doing it before—when he'd tried to guide him to the kitchen. Peter was either afraid of touch or had more bruises and injuries than Tony knew about—or maybe both. He cursed himself for not knowing which. He should have had FRIDAY scan him earlier.

Clint seemed to notice Peter's flinch, too, because Tony saw a flicker of anger pass over his face. Tony wasn't the only one feeling protective. Clint was always good with kids and people who hurt kids had every reason to fear the man.

"It's all good, Peter," Clint continued. "You did great. Very few can get the best of me. You must be the man at dodge ball."

That seemed to do it. The kid's head lifted, and a little smile played on his lips, tugging unsurely at the corners of his mouth like it was an almost forgotten motion. "Yeah, getting hit with a dodge ball hurts."

Clint chuckled. "Right? Those things sting like a bitch," he said.

"Language," Tony found himself saying. Apparently, Steve was rubbing off on him.

Clint snorted. "My bad. Anyway, you should have seen him. He ducked and rolled, dodging away from me like I was in slow motion."

Tony had seen how fast the kid was the first time they'd met. He imagined that living on the streets, he'd learned to run and escape. It was survival. It was a lesson in life someone so young shouldn't have had to learn, and clearly, from the bruises, he hadn't been able to escape everyone. Someone had caught the kid—and more than once from the look of it.

"Maybe you were moving slow," Tony joked. "Have you looked in the mirror lately? You're getting old, Legolas."

"Like a fine wine, I only get better with age," Clint said. "Anyway, I got to head out to do some training. Needs to hone my skills." He laughed and turned to Peter, raising a brow. "And you take care of yourself, and I can't believe I'm saying this, but listen to Tony. He's a good guy—like a big, grouchy teddy bear, but a good guy. And if you need anything, you can come to me. Seriously, short stack. I don't know you well, but if Tony trusts you, you're good in my book."

Peter nodded, twisting his fingers together in front of him. "Thanks."

Clint nodded to Tony and walked off to the elevator.

Tony looked back at Peter to see his gaze flitting around the room like he was looking for Natasha and Bruce.

"They're not here," Tony answered the unspoken question. "Bruce headed down to his lab right after. I think he felt bad"—he sighed—"and Natasha left to pick up Steve. You haven't met him yet, but I think you've probably heard of him, goes by Captain America." Peter's eyes widened slightly at that. "Her and Spangles will be back in a few hours."

Peter nodded and dropped his head to look at the floor again. Tony felt like putting the damn kid in a neck brace. Whenever Peter seemed to feel overwhelmed, he averted his gaze to his feet. It was a tell, one of Peter's many Tony was learning. He knew there was a strong kid in there somewhere. If he could just reach in and pull him out.

Glancing down, he noticed that Peter really needed new shoes. His toes had worn holes in them. He doubted they even fit. He made a mental note to send someone out to buy some. Maybe Pepper would be interested in taking him shopping. That reminded him. He really needed to talk to Pepper about everything, but thankfully she was in Japan for a few days, so he had time. He loved her dearly. She was his other half and deserved to know what he was going on—even if a part of Tony dreaded telling her. Pepper used logic in her arguments, and Tony didn't do well against her. He worried she wouldn't like what he was doing by helping Peter. He could already imagine her scolding him about the difference between taking in a stray animal and a child, but he hoped when she met Peter, she would soften to the idea.

When Tony looked back up, Peter was tugging at the cuffs of his sweatshirt sleeves, his shoulders turned inward and his head down. He seemed so insecure, and it made Tony twitchy with emotion. The mechanic in him wished he could just fix what was wrong, but Tony knew people didn't work that way. He needed to have patience.

Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair. Maybe he was in over his head. His own childhood hadn't been great, his father hadn't won the Father of the Year Award, but at least he'd had a roof over his head. They'd both lost their families, but Peter's life seemed so much worse—maybe it was that he was so young. Tony had been nearly an adult when he lost his parents. Peter had lost his family slowly over the years, first his parents, then his aunt and uncle each dropping off years later. Tony didn't want to think about the damage that did to someone.

"Come on. You look ready to fall over." Tony gestured to the living area, making sure not to intrude on his personal space. "Why don't you kick up your feet for a bit, speaking of, I'm buying you some new kicks." He glanced over to see Peter's expression as he took a hesitant seat on the couch. He wanted Peter to be comfortable, but it was hard to get a read on him; his face was too etched by his constant anxiety.

Sighing, Tony took a seat. "Try to relax. No one's going to hurt you here."

Peter licked his lips and nodded. "Mr. Star—I mean, Tony, can I ask you something?"

"Shoot, kid."

"Why do you care? I mean … I'm a nobody."

Tony pursed his lips. That was a good question, one he wasn't sure he knew the answer to. He took a deep breath, clasping his hands in his lap. He looked at Peter. "The truth?"

Peter glanced up to meet his gaze, giving a tiny nod.

"I don't really know," Tony said with a shrug. "Probably has something to do with my own twisted childhood. My dad wasn't the greatest, and I don't like seeing kids hurt. Honestly, though, emotions aren't my thing, kid. I don't know why I do the things I do. I probably need therapy more than most. I just feel like I can do something good here, or at least try to."

He observed Peter's face, hoping his rambling hadn't made things worse. The boy seemed to be studying him just as much as Tony was him. Tension hung in the air as Tony waited for him to respond.

Peter shifted in his seat. "You're not like most adults," he said after a moment.

Tony laughed. "No, definitely not. Adulting isn't my specialty. Which means, I'm a terrible person to be meddling in your life. The adult thing to do would be to turn you in—"

"You can't!"

"Easy, Peter. I said that was the adult thing to do. What did I say? I'm not an adult. Well, I am, just a crappy one who doesn't follow the rules. You're safe here. I'm not sending you anywhere. Just giving you a place to recover. Sorry, kid, but it's pretty obvious the streets aren't treating you well."

The boy nodded, hands moving to grab his backpack from beside him. He never let the weathered bag out of his reach. He imagined everything the kid owned was in there.

Peter seemed to be relaxing a bit, so Tony thought he'd try to venture a few questions. He didn't know how it would go, but his curiosity was killing him. He hated puzzles with missing pieces, and that was Peter in a nutshell.

"Can I ask you something?" he asked, keeping his tone gentle. "You can just nod, yes or no. You don't have to talk."

Peter shrugged, hands playing with the strap of his backpack but not looking up.

"The bruises, did someone you know give you those? Maybe someone you're staying with."

Peter sat quietly for a moment before shaking his head.

"Were you attacked?"

His shoulder lifted in a half-hearted shrug.

Tony wanted to know more, but he was worried about pushing too hard. Peter didn't look any more anxious than before, so he decided to press on. "Can you tell me about it?"

Peter looked over at him. "I know you mean well, but I'm okay. No one's been hurting me—not anymore. This was just an accident."

"Someone must have hurt you. You don't look like that from falling down. You can tell me the truth."

Peter looked at him, his eyes looking older than his years. "It's just some bruises. I've had worse."

The kid's words hit him like a punch to the gut. Tony didn't want to picture worse. Peter shouldn't know worse. Not knowing how he was getting hurt was driving Tony insane. He just wanted to protect the kid. He couldn't do that without the full story.

Silence settled between them, and Tony watched as Peter scratched his thumbnail on the rough fabric of his backpack. After a few minutes, Tony cleared his throat. "I looked into you a little," Tony confessed, hoping not to spook him. "I know you lost your family and got put in foster care." He paused as Peter looked away. "I know you ran from your foster home."

Peter shrugged, pulling the bag tighter to himself.

"Did someone in the foster home hurt you? Is that why you ran?"

Tony was pretty sure he already had the answer, but he just needed to hear it—puzzle pieces and all.

Peter's grip on his bag tightened impossibly more, his knuckles turning white.

That's when Tony heard it.

A sniffle.

Peter curled around his bag, and his breaths began to hitch.

Shit. Tony hadn't meant to make him cry, but the tears were all the answer he needed. Some piece of shit had broken this kid, and it lit a fire in Tony.

Peter's shoulders began to shake. Tony didn't know what to do. Peter had cringed back from touch before. He didn't want to make this worse. Where was Clint when you needed him? The man was great with kids having a brood of his own. Tony's solution was to offer the kid a stiff drink, but he was pretty sure that was frowned upon. He raked a hand through his hair, watching helplessly as Peter came apart.

Why did he push? Tony needed to do something. He couldn't just let the kid suffer.

"Hey, it's okay," Tony said, holding a hand just above Peter's shoulder, unsure if he should touch. "I didn't mean to … shit. I'm sorry, Peter. It wasn't my business, and I shouldn't have asked. I'm sorry."

Peter lifted his head and wiped his tears on his sleeve. He turned toward Tony, eyes red. He looked so much younger than fourteen. "It's okay."

Tony shook his head. "No, it's really not. I shouldn't have pushed. Tell you what, we don't have to talk about it again unless you want to," Tony said. "I'll leave it alone. Deal?"

Peter frowned slightly but nodded. "Thanks," he said, but the way his brows were pinched and his jaw worked, it looked like he wanted to say more.

"What's up, kiddo?"

"Am I allowed to leave?" Peter asked.

Tony drew a breath, letting it out in a huff. He didn't want Peter to leave, but he knew that forcing him to stay might push him further away. Stopping him earlier hadn't been the best idea and he grateful that Peter didn't hold it over his head. "Yeah, I mean, I want you to stay, but I'm not gonna lock you in if you want to leave."

Peter nodded and began twisting the strap of his backpack.

"Something else on your mind, kiddo?" Tony asked. He could practically see the anxiety rippling off Peter.

"Could I have something to drink?"

Tony let out the breath he was holding. That was an easy request. "That I can help you with. What do you want? Water, juice, soda, coffee? Wait, you're too young for coffee, right? I mean, aren't you supposed to be like eighteen or something? I don't know. I drank the stuff since I twelve but look at how I turned out."

"Water's fine."

Tony eyed him for a moment. He had a feeling the kid was gonna ask for the cheapest thing offered. "How about a soda? You look like you need the calories. Honestly, kid, we need to do something about that. You're what, ninety pounds soaking wet?"

Peter shrugged. "I never really weighed myself."

Tony got up and walked to the fridge, grabbing a can of Coke. Tony wasn't a fan unless it was mixed with rum, but Clint seemed partial to it, so he kept it stocked.

He walked back over, handing the soda to him. He took a seat back on the couch, leaning forward, forearms resting on his knees. He watched as Peter opened it and took a drink.

"So, you like video games? Clint's got plenty to choose from if you want to play."

Peter looked at the can held between his hands. "Would it be alright if I took a nap?"

Tony glanced at his watch. It was still early, but he imagined the kid needed some rest. "Yeah, you good here or you want a room to yourself?"

"Here's fine," Peter said, setting his drink down on the coffee table.

Tony nodded, getting to his feet and grabbing a throw from the chair. He watched as Peter drew his knees up, and with a little wriggling, he got himself settled, his bag clutched in his arms. Tony shook the blanket out and then laid it over him, gaining a curious expression from Peter.

"Okay, I won't be far if you need anything. Holler if you need anything. FRIDAY will alert me."

"Who's FRIDAY?" Peter asked, lifting his head.

"FRIDAY's the AI that keeps things around here ticking. Designed her myself."

Peter yawned. "That's kinda cool."

"It's very cool. Now, sleep."

Peter adjusted himself a little more, curling around his backpack and closing his eyes.

Tony milled around in the kitchen until he heard soft snores coming from the couch. Asking FRIDAY to watch him for a moment, Tony slipped to his workshop and got a small tracker. When he got back upstairs, he the tracking disk from his pocket and walked over to where Peter lay. Holding his breath, Tony carefully stepped closer to the kid, watching for any sign of movement, not wanting to wake him. He seemed to be deep asleep, so Tony took his chance and slipped the small device onto the bottom of the bag where it melded onto the fabric. The kid wouldn't even know it was there. It might not be ethical to sneak a tracker on him, but he didn't want to risk not being able to find Peter.

He ran a hand through his hair and walked over to the windows, looking out over the city. He pressed his hand against the glass. He should call Pepper and apologize for missing the two meetings that morning. With her out of the country, he was supposed to help out.

He sighed. What was he going to do? Was Natasha right? Was he in over his head? It seemed too late to turn back now. He pinched the bridge of his nose. His head hurt. He could design an Iron Man suit in a cave with scraps. He was Tony Stark, the genius, but he couldn't figure out how to handle a scared kid.

Tony wasn't sure how much time passed as he stood mulling over his thoughts, but the sound of the elevator drew his attention. He immediately jogged over to it before anyone could charge in and startle Peter.

"Tony," Steve greeted with a nod, then raised a brow. "Are you blocking us in for a reason?"

"Christ," Tony whispered. "Are you always this loud? How did I never notice how loud you were before? Whisper. Peter's sleeping."

Steve drew a breath and exchanged a look with Natasha.

"Okay, what's up?" Tony asked. "You're making that face again."

Steve shook his head, rubbing his forehead. "Tony, Natasha explained everything on the ride back—everything about Peter. We both agree. Getting involved just doesn't seem like a good idea."

Tony crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't remember asking either of you."

"Don't get all huffy," Natasha said. "Just hear Steve out."

He raised a brow and waved a hand for him to explain. As much as he didn't want to care what they thought, he actually did. They were something like family—even if they didn't always agree.

Steve sighed, running a hand over his mouth. "We aren't trained to deal with kids, Tony. As much as I'd like to help him, it's not our area. There are people better equipped. We should call the authorities and find him a home where he'll be taken care of."

"Those people let him go to an abusive home once. You don't think they'll let it happen again?"

Steve frowned. "He was abused?"

"Yeah, I don't know how bad, but he was," Tony said. "He doesn't like to be touched, either, so keep your distance."

Natasha and Steve both nodded.

"Are you sure about this?" Natasha asked.

He couldn't help the bit of irritation that rose in him. "Sure that I'm gonna help him? Yeah, I am, and I expect you guys to respect that and make Peter feel welcomed."

"Okay," Steve said, glancing at Natasha who gave a curt nod. "We can do that."

"Good." Tony stepped to the side, letting them out of the elevator. "He's on the couch. Don't wake him."

Steve patted Tony on the shoulder as he passed. "Debrief?"

Tony nodded, turning and following behind them as they walked past the living area into the boardroom.

They all took a seat around the large, oval table. Tony leaned back in the chair, kicking his feet up on the table. "So, speak to me. Where are we at with the alien tech?"

Steve leaned forward in his chair. "Not far. Whoever is pulling off these heists, they're organized. They can get in and out without leaving a trace. The salvagers don't even know their hauls have been compromised until days later when inventory sheets are checked."

"We've seen it. This is getting out to the streets," Natasha said. "Clint said it was being used in a bank robbery. We can't have these kinds of weapons out there."

Tony sighed. "The FBI hasn't made any headway either."

"You know, as much as you don't like the guy, if it weren't for Spider-Man down on the streets, this could be a lot worse," Natasha said. "Maybe we should touch base with him. See what he knows."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Don't start. He's nothing but trouble, and I doubt he knows anything."

"I think it's worth asking him about."

Tony leveled his gaze on Steve. "Seriously, you agree with her?"

"Yeah, I do," Steve said, leaning forward. "The guy might be a bit reckless, but he's getting results and protecting the little guy, which I can respect. Isn't that what you're doing with Peter? Looking out for the little guy?"

Tony scrubbed a hand over his face. "Are we done? I need to go check on Peter."

With that, he got up and walked out of the room.


	4. Free Falling

It had been a long time since Peter had slept on something other than cold, hard rooftops and in abandoned buildings. His body seemed to melt into the soft cushions of the expensive couch. As he lay there, he thought back to the first time he met Tony, tired and exhausted, just trying to get cover from the rain. He never thought that that little decision to curl up under the ledge would lead him here.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep when voices woke him. He lay still, listening—his fight or flight instinct on edge.

"Tony," a man spoke, "Natasha explained everything on the ride back—everything about Peter. We both agree. Getting involved just doesn't seem like a good idea."

Peter felt his stomach drop. Whoever was talking, they didn't want him around.

"I don't remember asking either of you." That was Tony. Peter bit at the inside of his lip as he listened. He wondered who the other man was. Peter remembered him saying that Natasha had gone to pick up Steve—Captain America—maybe that guy was him.

"Don't get all huffy," Natasha's voice joined them. "Just hear Steve out."

He heard a sigh, then the Captain spoke. "We aren't trained to deal with kids, Tony. As much as I'd like to help him, it's not our area. There are people better equipped. We should call the authorities and find him a home where he'll be taken care of."

Peter stiffened, swallowing against his rising anxiety. He wouldn't go back in the system, not after what had happened in his last home with Jack.

"Those people let him go to an abusive home once," Tony said. "You don't think they'll let it happen again?"

Steve's voice was softer when he spoke, and it made Peter angry. He didn't want pity. "He was abused?"

"Yeah, I don't know how bad, but he was," Tony said. "He doesn't like to be touched, either, so keep your distance."

Peter felt betrayed that Tony had told them. It wasn't their business. He tuned out the rest of the conversation, not wanting to hear more. As he heard them walk by, he closed his eyes, slowing his breathing. He didn't want to be caught awake.

He breathed a sigh of relief when they were gone and sat up. He didn't know what to do, part of him wanted to stay, but the other part wanted to run. He was starting to like Tony, but he didn't want to cause problems.

Faintly in the background, Peter could hear them talking through the walls. He wasn't paying much attention to what was being said in the other room, but he did catch something about the alien tech. Peter had run into before, but he was handling it, though it was good to hear they were watching the situation, too—the more, the merrier. It seemed fine until he caught someone saying his name—Spider-Man. Lifting his head, and he focused on their voices.

 _"You know, as much as you don't like the guy, if it weren't for Spider-Man down on the streets, this could be a lot worse,"_ Natasha said. _"Maybe we should touch base with him. See what he knows."_

Peter's brow furrowed, and he frowned. Tony didn't like Spider-Man?

Tony continued talking. _"Don't start. He's nothing but trouble, and I doubt he knows anything."_

Peter's heart sank at Tony's words. He tried to be a hero, he saved people, but Tony thought he was only trouble. Maybe he was wrong to think he could trust Tony. Peter didn't want to hear anymore.

Getting to his feet, he slung his bag over his shoulder. He needed to get out of there. He jogged to the elevator, slamming the button to the ground floor. He hoped Tony meant it that he wasn't a prisoner.

He was almost to the lobby when he heard FRIDAY. "You appear to be in distress, Peter. Boss is concerned and en route."

Not wanting to be stopped, as soon as the doors opened, he bolted toward the exit. Once outside, he ran as fast as his legs would carry him. Once he'd put some distance from the tower, he ducked into the shadows of an alley to catch his breath. He unzipped his bag and grabbed his gear, quickly slipping his familiar red and blues on, settling his nerves. He always felt calmer as Spider-Man. With no time to waste, he shot out a web, catching a nearby building, and swung.

He wanted to get as far from Manhattan as possible. The further he got, the less chance he would be found. He didn't have a real destination in mind, but he found himself heading back to Queens—back to the last real home he knew. A short while later, he found himself perched on the edge of the rooftop of the building across the street from his old apartment—the last place he was happy.

Traitorous tears began to prick at his eyes. He pulled off his mask and wiped them away, clutching it in his hands.

He felt alone, more alone than he had in a long time. He'd been starting to trust Tony, to respect him. He knew he wasn't on the same level as the Avengers, but Peter thought he'd been helping to make a difference. Tony didn't approve of him, and he didn't know how to feel about that. Spider-Man was the only thing he had been sure about in his life, and now he was questioning it.

Peter looked over the city. The sun was setting, casting hues of pink and orange around the storm clouds that were moving in. He needed to get going. He didn't know if Tony was looking for him, but if he was, Peter imagined he would need to keep moving to avoid him.

He stood on the ledge of the building, and with one last glance at his old home, he shot out a web and swung into the air, reaching and swinging between buildings, heading anywhere, everywhere, just getting away from there.

The night air began to chill, and the clouds were moving in over the boroughs, thunder echoing in the distance. He'd made his way toward Brooklyn. He wasn't sure why, maybe it was part of his spidey sense, but he felt drawn to the bridge.

Lightning flashed in the sky, and the first few drops of rain began to fall as he reached the iconic bridge that spanned the East River. He scurried up one of the guide wires, reaching the first stone support. He quickly jumped to the top, looking up as the thunder rattled the sky, the rain coming down in earnest now. He looked around, wondering what had drawn him there. His eyes fell on Manhattan, and for a moment, he felt a pang of guilt for leaving the Tower.

His senses began to prick at the back of his neck; something was coming. He glanced around. Then he saw it—a convoy of trucks coming out of Brooklyn. There was some kind of bird—no man—on top of one of the vehicles. He had a set of mechanical wings. The man knelt, using some sort of tech on the roof of the trailer. It was glowing, making an opening in the container. He watched as the man jumped inside.

Peter dropped his backpack by his feet and webbed it securely in place. He stepped to the edge of the support and readied himself to jump. The convoy was almost under him. He watched, timing it, as the man climbed out of the trailer, holding a case of something in his arms.

Three …

Two …

One …

He jumped, reaching up with his arm to shoot a web to the support, swinging and landing on the top of the trailer with a thud.

The man was already back in his mechanical wings. He spun when he heard Peter land.

Peter cocked his head to the side. "Hey, so … I suppose if I ask nicely, you're not gonna drop that case, are you?"

The man laughed. "If it isn't the itsy-bitsy spider come to save the day."

Peter crossed his arms over his chest. "You know me? Cool. So, I'm thinking we can do this the easy way, or the hard way—your choice, but either way, you're not leaving this truck."

"I'd like to stick around and chat, but I got places to be," the guy said.

His freaky bird wings spread, and he ran for the end of the trailer, jumping off the end and into the air.

"Hard way it is!" Peter called out after him, shooting out webs from both wrists at him. He hung on tight as he ripped into the air.

"What the—" he heard the guy yell as he climbed higher, looking back over his shoulder.

Peter began to second guess his decision to attach himself to this guy, the ground was getting further away every second.

Crap.

The guy banked hard left, sending Peter swinging. He couldn't let go, though. They were headed back toward the bridge.

"Having fun yet, Spider-Man?" the guy asked.

Peter yelled back. "A blast."

He kept his grip tight, hanging on for all he had. The cold rain pelting his face, making it hard to see.

The bird guy started to dive toward the water.

 _This may hurt_ , Peter thought to himself.

He held tight as they got closer to the water. They were moving fast, hitting the water at this speed was gonna hurt. His senses screamed to let go as the guy began to level out, causing Peter to skid across the water. Peter's grip was tight on the web, though. He wasn't going to let go. He squinted, trying to see through the rain. The bridge was getting close, too close. Crap. Bird guy was going underneath it, turning and weaving around the supports. Peter was gonna hit.

He should let go.

He really should let go.

His hands held on though.

As his web caught around the support, he slammed into the stone of the bridge, knocking the wind out of himself, pain radiating through his body. He let go, slipping into the icy water.

He heard laughing from above. He looked up, rain dripping in his eyes, and saw the jerk with the wings, glaring down at him. "Consider this a warning. Interfere again, and I'll kill you. Stick to the little shit. Don't get in my way again."

His wings stretched, and he took off into the night, leaving Peter struggling in the water.

The black water was cold. He needed to get back to land. Peter looked up at the bridge, and reaching out, he shot a web, catching the underside of the road. He grabbed it with both hands and tried pulling himself up, but he couldn't do it. It was too painful. He slipped back into the water.

He started to shiver. He knew if he didn't get out of the water soon, he was going to be in trouble. Reaching up, he tried again, this time pulling himself up enough that his feet could gain purchase on the stone. He got ahold of the support and began to climb, gritting his teeth at the pain shooting through him. He had broken at least a rib or two, his head and his right shoulder were both hurting, too.

He got up to the top of the stone support and collapsed, rain falling on him. He rolled onto his side and pulled his knees to his chest. He was so cold.

He could see the lights of Manhattan, and again, he thought of the tower. He imagined Tony might be worried, but he figured it would pass. As for the others, they were probably happy he was gone. It made their lives easier. Peter knew he was just a complication—a wrench in the works. The Avengers had real battles to fight. The last thing they needed was a distraction.

A violent shiver racked his body. He had to find a safe place to go. He remembered some old abandoned buildings he'd stayed in before. It wasn't his first choice, but with no money, it seemed like the best option.

Using the small stone ledge to steady himself, he pushed himself to his feet. Thankfully the rain was slowing. He grabbed his backpack and stepped up onto the ledge, shooting out a web, catching a guidewire. He leapt and swung, groaning as his shoulder pulled painfully under his weight. He worked his way across the bridge, heading back toward Manhattan.

He stayed high and away from the busy streets, not wanting to draw attention to himself. He slipped through the shadows, keeping his distance from the tower. Finally, he reached the old buildings he remembered. He climbed up to the roof and listened, reaching out with his senses. He didn't sense any danger or people so slipped down the side of the building and in through a broken window.

His shivering was getting worse. He pulled his wet suit off and tossed it into a pile on the concrete floor. His whole right side was turning black and blue, his shoulder was swollen. He hoped his body had enough strength to heal itself fast. He was hurting. It sucked.

His teeth were chattering, and he rubbed his arms, trying to find some warmth. Grabbing his bag, he checked his clothes. They were damp but better than nothing. He pulled them out and put them on, grabbing his wet suit and stuffing into his bag.

Just as he was about to settle down on a pallet, his senses went haywire, and he tensed, dropping to a crouch, eyes darting around the room. He heard someone kicking in the door. He spun toward the sound, ready to run. He wasn't in the condition to fight. He backed himself against the wall into the shadows.

There was another bang, and the door frame splintered, letting the door swing open.

Adrenaline pumped through Peter's beaten body.

A dark figure came through the doorway and moved into view, walking like he was searching for a target, making Peter's heart hammer in his chest. His senses were screaming for him to run, but he was frozen, frozen in the same way he'd freeze around Jack. He wasn't Spider-Man at that moment, he was just Peter Parker, and Peter Parker got scared.

The figure paused, seeming to sense him in the shadows.

"Easy, I got eyes on you. Don't move," the figure said. It looked like the man had a weapon, but it was hard to make out in the darkness. "Where's the boy?"

Peter was pretty sure he recognized that voice. It was Hawkeye. Before he could think about why he was there, Iron Man's silhouette appeared in the empty doorway.

Peter swallowed.

Iron Man's mask flipped open, and Peter could see Tony's face illuminated by the light of the suit. He looked exhausted like years had been stripped from his life.

"Hey," Peter said with a small wave.

"Short stack?" Clint asked, walking closer, lowering his bow.

Peter took a step from the shadows. "Yeah, I … I didn't mean to … what are you guys doing here?"

Tony's suit opened, and he stepped out, walking across the open space to Peter. "You disappeared from the tower. You ghosted on us, kid. What do you think we're doing here?"

Peter looked incredulous. "You followed me here? How?"

Tony raised his brows. "I may or may not have slipped a small tracker on your backpack."

Peter felt violated. He narrowed his eyes at Tony. "You said I could leave if I wanted."

"Hey, don't look at me like that. I was fine letting you run for a bit until I started seeing some strange shit on the tracker. Wanna explain that? We thought you were in trouble."

Peter didn't know what to say, lying wasn't his specialty, so he shrugged.

Tony closed his eyes and let out a breath. "I have nothing against playing things close to the chest, but throw me a bone here, kid."

Peter shrugged again, dropping his head. "It's complicated. I can't say. I know you were worried, but I'm fine," he said. "You can go if you want."

"Peter, seriously, we gotta talk about this," Tony said. "I've been out of my goddamn mind worrying about you. You know the shit I pictured happening to you?"

"I was safe. I was with someone," Peter said.

"Who?"

"It's probably better you don't know. You wouldn't like it." Peter remembered all too well that Tony didn't like Spider-Man.

"Try me," Tony said.

"Spider-Man," Peter whispered. "I was with Spider-Man."

Tony blinked. "Wait, I'm sorry. I think I heard you wrong. Could you repeat that? Because I thought you said you took off with Spider-Man. Is that who's been hurting you, Peter? Jesus, Kid."

"He doesn't hurt me. He watches out for me."

Tony's brows rose. "He's not doing a very good job. Look at yourself."

"Tony, that's enough," Clint said, cutting him off then turning to Peter. "Why don't we head back to the tower and talk there? No one's mad at you, Pete. I promise."

Peter looked between Clint and Tony. He wasn't sure what he should do. On the one hand, Peter felt cornered—trapped, but on the other, his bones ached from the cold. He really wanted to dry off and rest. Eventually, his body's needs outweighed his unease, and he nodded.

"Good," Clint said with a small smile. "You can ride with me. The car's around back."

Peter grabbed his bag and looked at Tony before following the archer toward the back door.

Peter shivered when he hit the night air. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to hold in some warmth. The shiny, black car stuck out amongst the decaying buildings and was easy to spot. Clint slipped past him and pulled open the passenger door, motioning him inside.

Peter sat, dropping his backpack between his feet on the floor. Clint shut the door with a click as Peter buckled himself in. The older man came around the front of the car, popping open his door and sliding inside. He looked at Peter, his eyes soft. "You okay, short stack?" Clint said, turning on the heat.

He nodded as Clint shifted the car and pulled out to the road.

Peter looked down at his hands, picking at his fraying sweatshirt. He didn't know what to make of Tony being so upset about Spider-Man. No matter how much he didn't want to admit it, it hurt that Tony thought so little of his alter ego.

"You know Tony doesn't mean it, right?" Clint broke the silence. "He was just worried. He'll get over you knowing Spider-Man. I'm sure Spidey isn't half bad."

Peter chanced a look at the archer. "He really only wants to help. He's kept me safe."

Clint nodded. "You can see why Tony's worried, though, right? No offense kid, but you look like you went rounds with the Hulk. You know you can tell us anything. We can keep you safe."

"I know. It's just after …"

"What?" Clint asked.

"I heard Tony talking with Captain America. He said I should go back in the system." Peter looked out the window. "I don't want to be a burden."

He heard Clint sigh. "Look, Steve can be … direct and too strategic for his own good. Take what he said with a grain of salt. What I want to know is what Tony said. Did he agree? Is that why you ran?"

Peter licked his lips nervously, watching the scenery pass. He gave a slight shrug. "He stuck up for me."

"Then you have nothing to worry about," Clint said. "It's clear Tony cares. You shouldn't sweat it, kid, but I understand coming from tough situations. I understand running." He paused. "I don't tell many people, but I use to be homeless."

Peter snapped his head to look at Clint. He studied the older man for any signs of a lie and found none. "You were homeless?"

Clint nodded. "My dad wasn't a great guy, knocked me around a lot. It got bad. Eventually, my brother and I decided to run. We took off—ended up joining the circus."

"Huh," Peter said, taking in the new information.

"So, you know, if you ever want to talk—about the bruises, foster homes, anything—I'm here okay, kid?"

Peter nodded. "Thanks."

He watched as they neared the Tower, slowly getting closer. He felt like he just might be on the right path.


	5. Trust Me

Tony's mind reeled as he tried to make sense of what Peter had said—that he was friends with Spider-Man. It didn't make sense, yet it explained so much. He knew there was a connection between Spider-Man and the mottled bruises Peter was sporting. He'd put money on it. Maybe Spider-Man hadn't caused them, but that didn't mean he wasn't involved. It just seemed too convenient. Either way, he was doing a piss poor job of watching out for the kid.

Back in his suit, he took off from the warehouse. "FRIDAY, notify the others that Peter's been found. He's safe, and they can return to the tower," he said.

"Of course, boss. Is there anything else I can assist you with?"

Tony sighed. "No, that's all. Not unless you know where I can find Spider-Man."

"I'm sorry, boss. I do not."

It only took a moment to spot the sleek, black car Clint was driving Peter back in. They were approaching the tower, only a few blocks out. He considered cutting ahead and getting back before them, but he held back, staying on Clint's flank, just in case the spider decided to make an appearance. He had some questions for him.

Tony slowed as they reached the tower and watched as Clint and Peter made it safely inside the lower garage before powering up to the top and landing on the balcony. He stepped out of his suit, walking through the door, his suit going back to storage on its own.

It was late, or early, depending on how you looked at it. The sun would be up in a few hours. He scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to shake the exhaustion. He wasn't just physically tired—he was emotionally spent.

The elevator dinged, and Tony looked over, expecting to see Clint and Peter. He tensed when he just saw Clint, his mind working fast to fill in the blanks with possible scenarios—like Peter running again. Maybe the kid didn't want anything to do with him. Tony wouldn't blame him. He wasn't the warmest person on earth—not really kid-friendly, but he'd come to like Peter, and it hurt a bit that the kid might not be comfortable with him.

"Where's Peter?" Tony asked, putting his hands on his hips.

"I talked to him a bit on the way back," Clint said, taking his bow off his back. "He seemed pretty tired, and I think he was worried that you were gonna chew him a new ass, so I took pity on him and brought him to your suite, showed him the spare room. I hope you don't mind."

Tony sighed. "Yeah, that's fine. Otherwise, he seemed okay, though? I caught him wincing earlier—his shoulder maybe? Maybe I should have FRIDAY run a scan."

Clint walked over to the couch, setting his bow down and plonking down beside it. "He seemed okay. I think he'll be alright." He folded his arms behind his head. "So, was it just me or did you sprout a few gray hairs today, too?"

Tony sighed, walking around to sit on the couch. He rested his elbows on his knees and put his head in his hands. He groaned then lifted his head to look at Clint.

Clint looked over at him. "He's alright, you know."

"Is this what having kids is like?" Tony asked.

"You mean worrying about everything they do?" Clint raised his brows. "Yeah, pretty much, but in time, you adjust. It doesn't get easier either. It's the hardest job out there."

"How the hell do people do it? I can handle machines, give me a screwdriver, and I can fix anything. Women I get, kinda, scratch that, _Pepper_ , but kids, they're …"

"Pretty damned great, aren't they?" Clint laughed.

Tony shook his head. In the short time he'd known Peter, he already thought he'd had at least one heart attack, and his blood pressure was probably higher than it ever had been.

"You'll be alright, Tony. There aren't any instruction manuals. You're gonna just have to go with it."

"Am I doing the right thing? Should I let him go back to foster care?"

"Don't send him back. I can see how much you care for him. Honestly, it's weird, but you're weird so ..." Clint laughed. "Seriously, you're doing good with him. He's a good kid. He needs someone looking out for him. Who better than this motley crew?"

Tony laid back into the cushions, looking up at the ceiling. "Natasha was right though. I can't hold him here. He's not mine. It's basically kidnapping."

Clint turned, propping himself up against the cushion to face Tony. "No, you can't make him stay, but I'm not sure he wants to run, not really. Kid's had it rough. I don't think he knows how to be close to people anymore."

"Maybe," Tony said. "I need to figure out what to do, though. Short term things are fine, but he should be in school. I can't go enrolling him. CPS will find him and take him back."

Clint took a breath, his eyes tightening. "Then why don't you petition the courts for him?"

"What?" Tony asked.

"You heard me. Make it legal."

Tony raised his brows. "I can't—"

"You can. Nothing is stopping you."

Clint was serious.

Maybe somewhere along the line, Tony had entertained the thought, but not seriously. How could he? Tony Stark was not parenting material. The man who used his pet fish for experimentation was not a top choice for molding a young mind. He was an eccentric, hot-tempered, insomniac. Nothing about that said 'let me raise a child.'

"I think I should ask the kid first, don't you?"

"You don't think he'd like the idea," Clint said, "or is it that you don't think you're ready to be responsible for someone else?"

Tony closed his eyes. "I don't know." He drew a breath. "Little of both, I guess. Plus, I can't figure him out. There is more to him then FRIDAY can tell me. I just feel it."

"You have time to get to know him."

"He's broken, and I'm barely a functional adult. I don't know if I am the best person to help him. We'd make a shitty parent-child combo."

"He trusts you," Clint said seriously.

Tony rolled his eyes. "He literally ran into the arms of a mutant to get away."

"He was confused," Clint said. "He overheard you and Steve. Speaking of, what did he overhear exactly?"

"Natasha and Steve, mostly Steve, saying that Peter didn't belong here with us, that it's not our area."

"I think it hit Peter hard. He's worried about being a burden," Clint said.

"He's not—not even a little."

Clint sighed. "Look my advice, talk with your lawyers, get the paperwork started. It takes a bit to get approved. Peter doesn't need to know, but we need to get something figured out. The kid was a straight-A student, wasn't he?"

Tony looked over at Clint. "You checked his file?"

Clint shrugged. "Did you think I wouldn't?"

Tony rolled his eyes. "I guess not."

"Look, get the legal details figured out. He doesn't need to know what you're doing yet." Clint pushed himself up from the couch, grabbing his bow. "I will say this, shorty is full of surprises. Who knew he was buddies with Spider-Man? Maybe I can get an autograph." He chuckled, gaining a glare from Tony.

"Don't start fangirling again or I'll tell Nat," Tony said.

Clint huffed. "It's my mission to get you to appreciate the red menace. Give me time."

"Keyword there is menace."

"You'll see. I'll bring you to the dark side," Clint laughed. "Anyway, I'm off. Night."

"Night," Tony said, yawning.

He toed off his shoes off, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. The conversation he had with Clint was replaying in his mind. He didn't know what to do. He threw an arm over his eyes, and before long, drifted off to sleep.

When he woke, the sun was beginning to come up over the city, casting a warm glow to the room. He drew a shaky breath and rubbed a hand over his face. Damn, he needed to shave. His face was rough, more than a five o'clock shadow had grown over the last few stressful days.

He got up, stretching his back, looking to the kitchen, surprised to see Peter there, eating a bowl of cereal.

He walked over to the counter. "See you found the food, good. You need to eat," Tony said. He blinked as he looked at Peter's face, something was different. "The bruises on your face are nearly gone." It was both a statement and a question.

It didn't seem possible—actually, he knew it wasn't possible. Maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him. He studied Peter's face a little more. He seemed to catch Tony staring and looked down, hunching his shoulders and ducking lower.

"I'm a pretty fast healer," Peter mumbled.

"Huh, alright, we'll go with that for now," Tony said, fully intending to look into it further later.

He turned and grabbed a bowl from the cupboard, picking up the box of cereal and looking at it first before sniffing the contents. "What is this?" he asked, eyebrows raised. "It smells terrible. Where's the real food? Like sugar-coated goodness and bacon."

"It's called Raisin Bran," Peter said as he chewed. He looked almost like a regular kid sitting there—like he belonged. The thought made Tony smile.

He put the box of cereal down and turned back to the cupboard, digging through the boxes for something else to eat. He refused to start his day with bran.

"FRIDAY, who did the shopping last?"

"Dr. Banner, boss."

Tony grumbled, going through box after box of whole-grain, organic foods. He just wanted some Fruit Loops or Cocoa Puffs.

"Grape Nuts, really?" he said, taking the box from the cupboard and throwing it in the trash.

"Dr. Banner has begun an initiative to improve the cardiovascular health of the Avengers team. There was a memo, boss."

Tony paused, thinking back. "Did I read it?"

"Not likely," FRIDAY said.

He heard a laugh and looked over to see Peter smiling.

"It's not funny," Tony said, turning back to the cupboard. "I think Clint's got some Captain Crunch in here somewhere unless the asshole hid it in his room. You don't need to force that crap down."

"It's okay," Peter said. "I saw the Captain Crunch. It's in the other cupboard, but I kinda like this better. It reminds me of my Uncle Ben."

The words seemed to slip out like a confession. Tony knew he hadn't meant to say that much, to give that much detail away about his life. Tony knew about how his uncle had died from the police reports, but he didn't know anything else about the man. He wanted to ask Peter about him, but he didn't want to push. The last time Tony had asked questions, Peter ended up in tears. It was going to take time—it was going to take patience. He needed to be an adult about this.

Peter stopped eating and began pushing his soggy cereal around his bowl. Tony decided a change of subject might be appropriate. There were some things he knew he should clear up. He grabbed a stool and sat at the counter, watching Peter, who was still looking down.

"I think you should know," Tony said, deciding on grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl for breakfast. "You're not a prisoner here. I meant what I said. I only came after you because I was worried." He polished the apple on his shirt and took a bite, talking as he chewed. "I probably didn't handle things the best way."

Peter glanced up from his cereal and looked at Tony. "You're really okay with me leaving? What about the tracker? It's weird being watched."

Tony shrugged. "If you want to go, you can, but I— _we_ —would like you to come back. As for the tracker, give an old man a break. I worry, okay? Just take this." Tony pulled a watch from his pocket, holding it out to Peter. It wasn't just a watch. It monitored vitals and technically could track him as well.

"What does it do?"

Tony shrugged. "Little of this, little of that. It will let me know if you're in trouble. Please take it, kid. It's all I'm asking."

Peter stared at the watch for a few moments before reaching out and taking it, clasping it to his wrist. "Your friends don't want me here."

"I'll be honest. It's complicated."

Peter fiddled with his spoon. "Are you gonna do what they said?" Peter asked, looking like someone just kicked his damn puppy. "Send me back."

"Peter, if someone told me a few months ago I would care about a kid, I'd ask them to pass the good stuff, but the thing is, something changed. I'm not gonna send you back. You're just going to have to trust me on this."

Peter's brows pinched together. "What if the CPS finds out I'm here?"

"If they find out and want to take you, they'll have a hell of a fight on their hands. I have the best lawyers in New York—the best in the country. This is Avenger's tower, and I promise you, no one is going to take you from here unless you want to go."

Peter sat quietly for a moment before nodding. "I … I'll stay for a while, but I need to be able to go out. There are things I need to take care of."

Tony leaned an elbow on the counter. "Peter, you don't need to work. I will take care of everything."

"It's not that," Peter said. "I can't explain. You just have to trust me."

The puzzle of Peter was beginning to drive him insane. What was he hiding? He wondered if it had to do with Spider-Man.

"Okay," Tony said. "I'll trust you, but I have to ask, is there any chance you'll tell me what you're hiding?"

"I can't." Peter looked away. "I like you, and I don't want anything to happen to you."

Tony frowned. "Peter, are you in trouble?"

"Who's in trouble?" Bruce's voice carried into the room as he walked toward the kitchen from the stairs. He nodded at Peter as he passed. "Good to see you looking better. Had us worried last night."

Bruce walked to the fridge and grabbed the bacon, turning and snatching a pan from the rack.

"Oh, not going to eat the granola you filled the cupboard with?" Tony asked.

Bruce smiled. "I don't need to follow the health plan. The Other Guy keeps me healthy enough."

Tony crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes. "You're off shopping duty."

"Maybe that was my secret plan all along?" Bruce laughed. "So, Peter. You sleep well?"

Peter nodded. "Yeah, I slept okay."

Tony tossed his apple core in the trash. "Consider that room yours from now on. You can come and go as you please. I want you comfortable here."

The elevator dinged, and they all glanced over. The doors opened, and Steve stepped out. Tony drew a breath, looking over at Peter. The boy shifted in his seat, averting his gaze.

"Morning, everyone," Steve said, walking over into the kitchen and grabbing the box of Grape-Nuts from the trash. "Who threw out my cereal?"

"I did," Tony said. "I did the whole health food craze thing once. Totally not worth it. Enhanced metabolism or not, Bruce, you better be saving me some bacon."

Steve sighed. "You haven't had coffee yet, have you?"

"No, why is it showing?" Tony asked.

Steve chuckled. "Little bit."

Tony looked back over to Peter, who was picking at his hangnails to the point one was bleeding, his head still hanging low. He knew it was Steve making him nervous—not surprising after overhearing them by the elevator.

Tony glanced over at Steve and motioned with his head to Peter, trying to signal him to strike up a conversation.

Steve seemed to catch on as he nodded and looked to Peter. "So, Peter. I heard you're a good student. What's your favorite subject?"

Tony looked curiously at Peter. He had attended a top STEM school before. He kinda hoped he was going to say science or engineering. It would mean they had something in common.

"Science, I guess. I like trying to figure out how things work—make them better."

Steve crossed his arms over his chest. "I was never much for science myself, but I bet Tony and Bruce here could be of interest to you."

"Definitely," Bruce said, frying his bacon. "Anytime you want to talk science you can come and see me."

"Same for me, kiddo," Tony said. "When it comes time to get you back into school, Bruce and I should be able to get you caught up in no time."

"I was always kinda ahead, so I guess it shouldn't be too hard. I kinda miss school. I actually did my last report on you," Peter said, chancing a look at Tony.

"On me? I'm flattered. Which of my many and amazing accomplishments did you do your report on? Was it the design of my repulsors? It was, wasn't it?" He grinned. "Maybe on how I discovered a new element, Badassium? That was cool. Come on, what was it?"

He was genuinely curious and excited that Peter had taken an interest in him before all this.

Peter looked back down, shrugging. "Wasn't that good of a report, really."

"Come on, I won't say anything. Just tell me. Was it about my awesome good looks?"

Steve laughed.

Peter picked at his nails for a minute in silence. Tony could tell he wanted this conversation over. He felt terrible for putting him on the spot, so he was surprised when he finally spoke.

"It was just about your arc reactor design. I tried to figure out how it worked."

Tony's brows knit together. "And did you?"

He didn't really think that he had. It wasn't an easy concept to grasp as an adult, let alone as a child, but Tony was impressed that he'd been so ambitious.

Peter shrugged. "I don't know. I don't even know if I got the theory behind it right. It was just a dumb report."

Bruce turned around. "What was your theory?"

Peter fidgeted with his hands. "I kinda figured that you used the decay of the ions from the core as a source for the electron capture, which I thought produced a circuit between the two different isotopes."

Tony's mind seemed to come to a halt, and all he could do was blink.

Peter picked up his spoon, toying with it in his hands. "The ejection of the electrons would probably produce huge amounts of power. Scaled up, you could power a city. It could change everything." Peter paused between Bruce and Tony. "Sorry, didn't mean to ramble. I know I'm probably way off."

Tony was pretty sure his mouth fell open. The kid was a fucking genius. He looked over at Bruce, who seemed to be looking at him for confirmation that what they just heard was real. Steve just looked lost. Tony couldn't help it—he laughed.

"I should go," Peter said, looking back down. "I … I shouldn't have said anything. You're Tony Stark. I—"

"Peter, stop. I'm just in shock," Tony said. "You're right. Well, with a little tweaking, you are. How old are you? Jesus. I knew I liked you for a reason. Did you hear this kid, Bruce? He figured out the arc reactor at fourteen. Fuck. You're a genius."

Peter shook his head. "No big deal. I just like to read."

"I assumed more like The Hobbit. Damn, kid. You're gonna love the labs here."

"You have a lab here?" Peter asked, and for the first time, Tony noticed he looked excited about something. It made him smile.

"Of course," Tony said. "Quite a few of them. Give me a bit to caffeinate, and I'll show you around."

Peter nodded. "That sounds pretty cool, but maybe when I get back. I have some stuff to do first."

Tony eyed Peter for a moment before nodding. He had to trust him if he wanted his trust back.

"Okay, I'll catch you later," Tony said, getting looks from Bruce and Steve.

They all watched as Peter grabbed his bag by his feet and walked toward the elevator, stepping inside. He disappeared behind the closing doors, and Tony could only hope he wasn't making a mistake. If the kid got hurt, it was on him.


	6. Let You Down

The air was crisp, and the city was bustling around Peter as he jogged down the sidewalk and away from the tower. He weaved his way through the foot traffic, crossing streets, no real destination in mind. He just wanted to get far away enough that it would be safe to suit up and start his hunt for the jerk with the wings. He knew he was connected to the influx of alien tech—he just needed to prove it. If he did, maybe Tony would take Spider-Man seriously.

He found himself heading towards Queens. Whenever he was without direction, he always seemed to find himself pulled home. Finally, feeling like he put enough distance between himself and the tower, he slipped into an alley. He ducked behind a rusty dumpster and took off his backpack, unzipping it and pulling out his gear. He quickly changed up, tucking his bag in behind the dumpster and webbing it in place.

He scurried up the side of the building and onto the rooftop, his shoulder and ribs tugging painfully as he did. He still wasn't healing as fast as he usually did, but it was getting better since he had a few good meals. A little more rest and nutrition, and he'd be back to normal. He needed to be careful, though. Disappearing bruises would draw attention to his secret.

Peter walked to the ledge, looking out over the city. The sun was shining bright, warming the crisp air. He didn't sense any trouble, so he sat on the rough bricks, swinging his feet, looking around for anything unusual.

A few minutes passed, and he was considering heading out, when he heard a woman scream. He jumped to his feet, head turning toward the sound. His gaze locked on a woman, pointing and yelling at a man that was running down the street away from her.

"Someone help! That man"—she pointed, finger waggling—"he stole my purse!"

Peter shot out his arm, shooting a web from his wrist, catching a nearby light pole and swinging into the air. His shoulder protested as he pulled his weight. Peter pushed it aside, though, focusing on the job he had to do. This wasn't the high crime takedown he wanted to impress Tony with, but this was a start.

"It's okay, ma'am," Peter said, swooping by the woman. "I've got this."

She looked up, putting her hands over her mouth in shock.

He was close behind the thug, flying high from the buildings, weaving around obstacles smoothly. It felt good to be out and doing his job again. With one more swing and pull of his web, he was almost perfectly positioned to take him down.

"Didn't your mom teach you any manners?" Peter yelled down at the guy, a smile playing at his lips. This was fun. This was what he needed to clear his head.

The thug looked up, clutching the purse and turning quickly into an alley. Peter didn't sense what was about to happen as he caught the edge of the building and pushed off with his feet, dropping down into the alley behind the thief, but he knew these streets and alleyways better than anyone. There was no getting by him. Peter had him cornered—or so he thought.

"Hey, buttface," Peter said, cocking his head to the side. The thief remained frozen, facing the dead end of the alley, back to him. "Why don't you hand over the nice lady's purse like a good little thuggy, and I won't leave you webbed to the building with your pants down for the police to find?"

The guy began to turn, his hands slowly moving to up as he did. Peter was a little disappointed at how easily the guy gave up. He was looking forward to a bit of fighting.

He was just about to say something smart when he caught a glimpse of something metallic, weapon-like, in the guy's hand. Peter recognized the unusual look—alien tech.

Without hesitation, the guy took aim and shot at Peter. Thankfully, his spidey sense warned him and gave him just enough time to dodge, his back arching and twisting to the side, avoiding the beam of blue light. Peter heard a crash and looked over his shoulder to see a car, rolling onto its side.

The thought of retrieving the purse was forgotten, and now he was focused on surviving and protecting lives—minimizing casualties.

Peter's spidey sense pricked almost painfully. He leaped onto the wall, climbing up while reaching back and shooting a web at the guy, but he missed him. It only seemed to piss the thug off more.

Peter made a note not to miss again.

There was a whining sound coming from the weapon like it was recharging. Peter took the chance to shoot another web at him, trying to disable it, but the guy was quick on the trigger, shooting again, shattering a section of building beneath Peter.

The wall began to fall apart, bricks slipping from their mortar and tumbling down. Peter tried to clamber up higher, but he couldn't gain purchase. His web grabbed a piece of falling wall, and he tried to swing, but the wall collapsed onto him, crushing him in a pile of bricks on the ground.

For a moment, it all went dark.

The first thing he felt as he woke was the grit in his eyes as he tried to blink, everything else was numb. For a second, he couldn't remember where he was or how he got there. It was a blur. Did he hit his head? He wasn't sure. Blood or sweat was dripping down his face. He tried to pry a hand free to wipe it away but couldn't move it.

He must have hit his head. It was throbbing. He licked at his lips, tasting blood and dirt.

"Good riddance, kid," said a gruff voice. He heard a whine that brought everything rushing back. His senses screamed. He pushed with his legs and clawed fruitlessly with his fingers, breaking his nails against the bricks. He knew what was coming. The rubble on his back shifted as he lifted the broken wall. He needed to move before the guy could fire again.

Everything hurt, but he pushed himself up, wobbling on his legs. The weapon in the man's hand whined as it came to a full charge. Peter aimed and shot a web, catching it. He yanked it from the man's hands and then collapsed to his knees, breathing heavily. The world kept fading in and out, but he knew he still needed to web up the weapon and the guy. Blinking away the blood and dirt in his eyes, he shot a web at the guy as he tried to run, tying his feet together and making him fall. Peter clutched the weapon to his chest and sat back on his haunches, panting.

The sound of sirens was getting closer, and Peter knew he needed to leave. Pushing himself to his feet, he stumbled over to the dumpster and balanced against it. He was just about to climb the building beside him when he heard a strange sound. It wasn't a car, but it was definitely an engine.

A moment later, he was looking at the Avenger's standing at the entrance to the alley.

"Where's Peter?" Natasha asked, breaking the silence.

Peter clenched his free hand in a fist, swallowing nervously. He was cornered, and he knew it. There was no escaping. With nowhere to run or hide, Peter did the only thing he could. He reached for his mask, knowing that once they knew, it would seal his fate. They wouldn't want anything to do with him after that.

The fabric pulled painfully over where he'd been hit in the head, sticking to the bloody wound. He knew he looked awful. Clenching the mask in his hand, he dropped his arm and lifted his head to meet their gazes, though the only person he cared to see was Tony.

Shock spread across their faces, but Tony still had his mask in place. Peter bit his lip, tasting a hint of blood. After a minute of silence, the faceplate lifted Iron and Peter saw the pained eyes looking back at him.

"Ah, kid," Tony sighed.


	7. Your Pain is my Pain

Tony walked over to the counter and took a seat on the stool where Peter had previously been sitting.

"We going to talk about what just happened?" Steve asked.

Tony looked over at Steve, raising his brow. "Don't know what you're talking about."

Bruce let out a huff. "Tony …"

"Don't give me that look, Brucey," Tony said. "As much as I'd like to keep him here, I can't."

"If we're going to look after him, we should know where he is," Steve said.

"We?" Tony asked. "So you're warming up to him?"

Steve shrugged. "He's a good kid. I'm still not sure we're doing the right thing, but he needs someone looking out for him."

Bruce cleared his throat. "Tony, I don't know if you noticed, but there's something odd about him—the way he heals. It might just be my imagination, but it seems accelerated. His bruises are nearly gone."

Tony was relieved he wasn't the only one to notice. "I thought the same thing."

"What does that mean?" asked Steve, brow furrowing.

Tony shrugged. "I don't know, but he's hiding it for a reason."

"Maybe you should talk to him," Bruce said. "Let him know we wouldn't judge that kind of thing."

"Yeah, that's—" Tony was interrupted by his watch beeping and FRIDAY relaying an alert. He looked down at his wrist, tapping a button and bringing up a display that floated in the air. It was of a map of Queens with Peter's location blinking in red. His vitals were displayed on beside it. Something was happening. His heart rate was elevated, and so was his breathing. He didn't appear to be in dire distress, but something seemed off. His thoughts went to Spider-Man and if the vigilante was with him. He didn't want to intrude on Peter's privacy by following, but something wasn't right. He could feel it in his gut.

Steve crossed his arms. "Are you tracking him?"

Tony glanced up at Steve, frowning a little. "Yeah, something's not right, though." He looked back at the display. "His vitals are all over the place."

"Should we go after him?" Bruce asked, getting up and looking at Peter's vitals himself. "Nothing seems too out of place. Maybe he's jogging?"

There was the sound of footsteps, and Tony looked to see who it was. Clint rounded the corner from the staircase first, followed by Natasha.

"What's going on?" Clint looked around the room, his gear on and bow in hand, looking a little sweaty. They were probably fresh from training. "What's with the long faces?"

Natasha moved to stand beside Bruce, plucking a piece of toast from his plate and nibbling it. "Is that a tracking report?"

Steve nodded. "It's Peter."

Natasha raised her brows. "You let him leave the tower?"

Tony rolled his eyes, but then sobered when red began flashing over Peter's vitals. Tony tapped the screen to get a full diagnostic. The results made him pale—multiple contusions and a moderate concussion, possible broken bones. "We need to go. Now."

"We'll take the jet and meet you there," Steve said as Tony took off toward the balcony, already having FRIDAY getting his suit.

"Sounds good, Cap." Tony's faceplate closed, and he then he was gone, a million scenarios playing through his mind, none he liked.

It took only minutes to reach the scene, and it was a scene. There was a car on its side lying in the street and dust settling from some type of explosion in the alley. What the fuck was his kid doing in the middle of this shit storm? His heart hammered so hard that FRIDAY asked him if he was okay.

Traffic in the street was blocked by the car, making room for the Quinjet to land. The rear hatch opened, and the team approached him, taking in the scene. Tony motioned toward the alley where Peter's tracker said he was. His mind didn't want to accept that Peter was here in this mess. He couldn't be.

The team followed Tony as he walked into the entrance to the alley. A jolt of anger passed through him when he saw the familiar red and blue of Spider-Man's suit. He knew that the vigilante was involved somehow. He scanned for other people, needing to find Peter, but only Spider-Man stood before him.

"FRIDAY, where's Peter?"

The display on his HUD showed FRIDAY scanning the area before she spoke. "Peter appears to be approximately eighteen feet in front of you. If I may, boss, his vitals and that of Spider-Man are an exact match."

Tony's mind was racing. It couldn't be. Peter couldn't be Spider-Man. He would have known—or would he?

Spider-Man— _Peter_ —swayed, clinging to the dumpster. Tony took a moment to take in his appearance. His suit, if you could call it that, was covered in dirt and blood. His weight was shifted like his leg was injured.

"Where's Peter?" Natasha asked from beside him.

Silence filled the air as everyone waited for Spider-Man to respond, but Tony already knew. He was standing right in front of them.

Tony watched as Peter raised a hesitant hand, grabbing his mask. He looked to be stealing himself, then without saying a word, he tugged it off his face. Tony's breath hitched when he saw Peter's pale face, streaked with dirt and dripping in blood, looking back at him. Even though he'd known it was him for minutes, seeing it was believing. Peter really was Spider-Man. Tony's whole world tipped on end.

"Ah, kid," he sighed.

Peter wiped at the blood on his forehead, snapping Tony's attention back to the fact Peter was injured. "You're hurt."

"I'm okay." Peter shrugged, but it made him wince. "I should go." He took a hobbling step forward and nearly lost his balance. "It's not as bad as it looks."

Tony scoffed, already walking over to him. "You're not going anywhere without some help."

"He's right," Bruce said as he joined Tony beside Peter. "You're leg could be broken. We need to get you back to the tower."

"But—"

Natasha came over, collecting the alien weapon from Peter. "No buts, kid. You're injured."

Peter flicked his gaze to her and then looked away, nodding.

Tony watched as Bruce quickly examined a reluctant Peter, checking his head wound. "We really need to get going," Bruce said, looking over at him.

Tony nodded, stepping closer to Peter and positioning himself to beside him. Not asking permission, he took Peter's arm and looped it over his shoulders, so he could carry some of his weight. Peter didn't protest. He silently went along with him. Tony tried to imagine what must be going through Peter's head. It was clear that he didn't want his identity known and now all of the Avenger's minus Thor, who was still off-world, knew.

Steve stepped back into the entrance of the alley as they began to walk. "Reporters have started to arrive. You should get his mask back on him."

"Right." Tony paused and helped Peter balance as he pulled on his dirty mask.

Tony tapped his watch, and his armor that was still standing guard took off back to the tower. With an arm around Peter for support, they began the slow walk back toward the Quinjet. They didn't get far, though. Something caught Peter's foot, and he stumbled. Tony heard him bite back a cry. Peter's knees buckled, nearly making Tony fall with him because of the unexpected shift. Tony moved and guided Peter to the ground.

Bruce knelt beside them, touching Peter's leg. Worry made itself known on his face. "Yeah, I'm betting there's a break here somewhere." He looked at Tony. "Can you carry him? Or we can get the stretcher. I don't want to risk it."

Peter's eyes went wide, and he looked between Bruce and him. "You don't need to carry me. I can walk. I just tripped. Really, it's no big deal."

"Hey, calm done," Tony said, resting a hand on Peter's shoulder. "Getting princess carried is in my top ten favorite things to do. You know how many times I've let my friend Rhodey carry me because I was too drunk to—"

Bruce coughed. "Tony."

"Yeah, um, probably not appropriate, but the point still stands. A good princess carry is pretty relaxing."

Peter frowned, studying him for a moment before finally nodding with a sigh. "Okay."

As gently as he could, Tony slipped his arms under the boy's legs and another around his back. Making sure to lift with his knees, he lifted him into his arms. Tony had expected him to be heavier, so he was surprised when he felt so light in his arms. Peter's weight made Tony's stomach clench with worry. He'd been making sure Peter was eating but apparently not enough. His mind was already trying to calculate the calories a growing Spiderling needed. Was his metabolism enhanced? He knew that he had some kind of healing factor. His mind swirled with questions, but they were all brought to a stop when Peter shifted in his arms. Much to Tony's surprise, the kid had curled into him, tucking his head into Tony's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Peter whispered.

"Don't be," Tony said. "If anyone should be sorry, it's me."


	8. The Sun's Getting Low

The hatch of the Quinjet closed behind Tony as he carried Peter over to a seat. The kid was relaxed in his arms, much to Tony's surprise. He had become so accustomed to him being standoffish and afraid of touch that he was taken aback by the change. This was a complete turnaround from before. He couldn't help but hope that this was a sign things were changing for the positive. Maybe there was hope Peter would come to trust him.

Carefully, not to hurt him, Tony lowered Peter down into a seat. His heart tightened when he heard a small whimper come from the boy. He looked to Bruce, worried. The doctor gave him a small nod in reassurance.

Tony took a seat beside Peter as the jet took off toward the tower. Thankfully, it would only be minutes before they were there. He scrubbed a hand over his face. His head was beginning to ache, a sharp pain starting behind his eye. _Was this what a stroke felt like?_ The whole situation was insane, but he was glad that at least the team was coming around. There was no arguing now that Peter needed more than an average home as he was far from average himself. He couldn't go back to a foster home. With his secret revealed, it made sense that he would stay with them. They could watch out for him.

Bruce came over with a first-aid kit, taking out some gauze and dapping some of the blood from the gash on Peter's head. Peter's gaze was fixed on the floor, his shoulders turned inward, his usual anxious pose. Tony imagined if Peter could, he would curl into a ball. It broke his heart a bit.

Steve turned his head to look back over his shoulder. "We're landing."

Tony nodded. "Medical should be waiting."

With a gentle bounce, the Quinjet landed, and the rear hatch opened. Without a word, Tony stood and scooped Peter up in his arms, carrying him out of the jet. Peter squirmed in his arms, obviously unhappy with being carried, but Tony just tightened his grip. He wasn't letting the kid hurt his leg more. Peter seemed to get the message and slumped back into his arms.

"This is stupid," he mumbled.

Tony huffed a laugh. "Stupid or not, I'm not letting you walk."

As he walked, Tony's mind continued to work, making lists of things he wanted to test. He'd never put much thought into Spider-Man's abilities, and he was regretting that now. What were they? Why did he stick to shit? God, was he gonna lay eggs? Clearly, he _was_ having a stroke after that last question his brain supplied.

"It's already feeling better. I could probably walk."

Tony actually felt his hair graying. "Nope. Not gonna happen."

Peter huffed but kept his arms around Tony's shoulders. Tony couldn't help the small smirk that tugged at his lips. One mark in the win column.

They all walked in silence which was strange. Usually, after a mission, the team would be chatting amongst each other, bragging about who got the best shot, but there was no rejoicing this time. It was different. No one seemed to know what to say.

"Over here, Tony," Bruce said, motioning to the bed. They were on the medical floor—a place Tony didn't love himself, so he didn't blame Peter for looking around nervously.

Tony laid Peter down on the bed. The harsh lighting made Peter's skin look even paler than usual.

"I think we should give him a little privacy," Bruce said to the others in the room. The rest of the team understood and left, only a few medical staff lingered.

With the others gone, Tony raked his hand through his hair and let out a sigh. "What can I do?" Tony asked, feeling a bit useless as he watched Bruce cutting the dirty fabric of Peter's suit off his leg. It was molted in deep red and purple bruises, almost like a painting, but the outside edges of which were already turning yellow and green. Tony felt sick.

"Get FRIDAY to run a full scan," Bruce said. "There's bruising everywhere. I need to know the extent of the damage. This may be worse than I thought."

"It's not," came a small voice, drawing Tony's gaze to Peter's face. "I've had a lot worse and survived."

Bruce looked up at Tony, and Tony just closed his eyes and sighed.

"Peter," Tony said. "How long have you been doing this? What happened to you?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Peter, you know when I said Banner had a cool party trick?" Tony said. "He turns into the Hulk. I can do weird, kid. Try me."

Peter suddenly seemed to find his hands incredibly interesting. He began to pick at his nails. He was shutting down. _Again_. If this was proving anything, it was that he wasn't good with kids. He should know better than to push. It never worked in the past. At least he hadn't made him cry again, not yet anyway.

Just as Tony was about to tell him not to sweat it, the kid spoke up. "It was a spider bite. Well, actually, I'm pretty sure it was a radioactive spider. It changed me—and it hurt, like _a_ _lot_. And now I'm like this." He gestured at himself. "Whatever this is."

Tony's mouth fell open a bit, and he blinked a few times. "Where the hell did you find a radioactive spider?"

Peter just shrugged, watching Bruce as he looked over the display of vitals that hung in the air, along with a detailed picture of Peter's leg.

His leg was clearly broken but didn't look like it would need setting. The rest of the readout listed other injuries. His rotator cuff was severely torn, and there was ligament damage. Tony wasn't that kind of doctor, but if he were to guess, he would say that the shoulder damage wasn't from today. He began to wonder just what kind of shit Peter, or should he say, _Spider-Man_ , had gotten into recently. There were also multiple rib fractures in different stages of healing. Again, what the hell? Otherwise, short of some bruising, he was okay. That was something.

"Amazing," Bruce said. "The bone is already knitting back together. He should be fine with a walking cast or boot." He pushed his glasses back up on his nose. "I'll get him some crutches to stay off it for a day or two, but I think he should be fine. As for the rest, I think the same. Though I am concerned that some of these breaks are poorly healed. Either his healing factor is variable, or those were some serious injuries, and we are just seeing the lesser of it now."

"Little bit of both," Peter supplied, still picking at his nails, hair hanging over his eyes.

Tony crossed his arms over his chest. "Listening."

"I need to eat to heal, and when I don't," Peter said, "I heal like a normal human."

"So, enhanced metabolism like Cap," Tony said.

Peter shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe?"

"And the colorful bruising and wrecked shoulder?" Tony asked

Peter bit at his lower lip, chewing it for a minute. "I kinda hit the Brooklyn Bridge going about fifty, some jerk with wings was dragging me, so yeah … I guess I got a bit messed up?"

"Excuse me? Come again?" Tony's brows lifted. "You what?"

"Tony …" Bruce said quietly. "Now's not the time."

Tony ignored Bruce's warning. "When did this happen?" He ran a hand through his hair.

Peter's mouth twitched downward. "The other day, I guess."

"And all this time, the bruises—they were from going out as Spider-Man?" Tony shook his head. "I need a drink—maybe a whole bottle."

Tony didn't know why he was getting angry, but he was. Maybe it was the stress of everything, and he was finally reaching his breaking point. He didn't want to take it out on Peter, but he couldn't seem to get a lid on his emotions.

"I think that's enough for the night, Tony." Bruce's tone was sharp and made Tony's gaze snap to him. "He needs to eat and rest, so he can heal. Same as me. Same as Steve. We can deal with this later."

Tony sighed. He knew Bruce was right, and he knew he didn't have a right to be mad. Tony was just scared for Peter. He cared about the kid, but seeing what being Spider-Man did to Peter, Tony wasn't behind letting it continue. The last thing he wanted was to lose Peter to Spider-Man, finding him bleeding out in an alley in pajamas. Something had to change. They needed to talk, they all needed to talk, and whoever this winged douche was, he had pain coming his way—a lot of it.


	9. Under Your Wing

Clint stood in the kitchen as they all began to dive into the boxes of pizza—everyone except Peter and Tony. He watched Peter sitting on the couch, leg propped up on a chair. He knew the boy was hungry, and from what Banner said, he needed to eat, but he wasn't touching the food that he'd brought him. Tony had taken off to his workshop after his outburst—Bruce had filled them in. Clint knew he just needed time, but from the look on Peter's face, the boy had taken it Tony's anger personally.

Peter looked so small and anxious, sitting with a pillow clutched to his chest. It was the opposite of the Spider-Man he saw on the news, swinging confidently into battle. The father in Clint wanted to reach out to him. Seeing kids hurting didn't settle well with him. He cared about kids. They were innocent and deserved a chance to be happy. He knew Tony felt the same way. The man just needed a little help showing it.

"Earth to Barton!" Natasha teased, nudging him with her elbow and snapping his attention back to the present. "Well?"

He glanced at the team, who were all looking at him expectantly. "Yeah, sure," he said, running a hand through his hair.

Steve's eyes went wide, his brows climbing. "You did?"

"Wait, what?" Clint asked, clearly missing something.

Natalie and Bruce just laughed, shaking their heads.

"You don't want to know." Bruce took a bite of his pizza. "You know," he continued quieter this time, glancing toward the living room where Peter sat. "Someone should talk to him. He hasn't moved in nearly an hour."

Steve nodded. "I can't imagine the stress he's under."

"I know," Clint said, rubbing his jawline. "Maybe I should go talk to him."

"That sounds like a good idea," Natasha said. "Steve, why don't you go check on Tony? Maybe knock some sense into him." She turned to Clint. "The rest of us will clear out for a bit and give you guys some privacy."

Steve pushed himself away from the counter. "I won't be far if you need anything."

"Thanks." Clint patted Steve on the arm.

Clint turned and padded over to the living area. The boy was still staring at the TV, which wasn't even on. The plate of pizza was still on the coffee table in front of him.

"That food's gonna do you a lot more good in your belly than sitting on your plate."

Peter tightened his grip on the pillow and wormed himself further into the cushions.

"I come in peace." Clint smiled. "Not here to hurt you. I'm actually a pretty big fan of your alter ego."

Peter looked down at the pillow he was clutching, staying silent.

Clint gestured to the couch. "Is it alright if I sit with you?"

Peter shrugged. "I guess so."

He walked around Peter's propped up leg, grabbing the plate of pizza and holding it out to Peter. He just looked at it, so Clint picked up the slice. "Look, not poisoned," he said, taking a bite.

He hoped for a reaction but got none. Clint's smile fell from his lips. He sighed and set the plate down on the coffee table. He sat down beside Peter, careful not to jostle him. He didn't know how healed he was, but Clint imagined he was sore. Banner had given him a rundown of the injuries, and they all sounded plenty painful.

It brought him back to how he couldn't believe this kid was Spider-Man. Without his suit to hide behind, he was just a kid and a skittish one at that. What had this boy been through to leave him so hesitant about everything?

"Wanna talk about it?" he asked, drawing a leg up under himself and turning to face Peter.

Peter sat silent for a minute, picking his nails. "He hates me."

"Who hates you?" Clint said, concern lacing his tone.

"Mr. Stark—Tony."

"Kid, first, stop picking your nails. They're bleeding. Second, Tony doesn't hate you. I promise."

"He was angry," Peter said. "I thought he was okay, but he freaked."

Clint shook his head and sighed. "He didn't freak because he hates you—the complete opposite actually. He cares about you. You scared the shit out him like every kid does to a parent now and then."

Peter was quiet for a moment. "I made him want a drink … It scared me."

Something clicked in Clint's mind, and he didn't like where it was taking him. "Did you think he would …" He paused, unsure if this was a topic to press. "Did you think that he would hurt you because he drank? Has that happened to you before—with other people?"

Peter closed his eyes and nodded. Clint just wanted to scoop him up and protect while simultaneously killing the bastard who had hurt him. He knew all too well what it was like to grow up abused. His father had favored a belt, and it was always worse when he was drunk.

"Was it when you were in foster care?"

Peter nodded. "Yeah, the first home wasn't horrible, but the last … His name was Jack."

"Was it before you became Spider-Man?"

Peter shook his head, surprising Clint. "It was after," he confessed. "If I let him hit me, he didn't hurt anyone else. It was okay, though. I healed fast. The other kids—I couldn't let them get hurt. I should have done more."

Clint ran a hand through his hair. "Peter … Please listen to me. What he did—there is no excuse in the world for it. You did what you had to do to survive. You were a hero for doing what you did."

He already had plans running through his mind on how he would kill the man slowly. Tony needed to know about this. "What happened to him?"

"I don't know. One day, he just didn't come home, and CPS came later that week, saying they were there for me and the others. I ran before they could get me into the car."

"And you've been running since?"

Peter nodded.

The questions of why Peter couldn't trust people were beginning to make sense, his fear of touch, his nervousness. He needed to talk to Tony. They needed to find this guy. At a minimum, make sure he wasn't hurting any other kids, but not before he experienced what it meant to be tortured by the best.

Peter shifted his booted foot and tried to adjust the way he was sitting. Clint remembered how important Bruce said it was for him to eat something. It was time for a change of subject.

"Is there something else you want to snack on? You really need to eat something."

"Pizza is fine."

"Want a piece without my drool on it?" Clint laughed.

Peter shook his head. "It's fine. I don't like wasting food, plus I've eaten worse."

It wasn't until then that Clint really thought how hard it must have been to survive alone in the city. Hunger must have been the kid's constant companion. It saddened him to think where Peter had had to find his meals.

He picked up the plate and passed it to Peter, leaning back on the couch, watching him eat.

Suddenly, Peter tensed.

"What's up?" Clint asked, but before he got an answer, he heard a set of footsteps stepping out of the elevator.

xXx

Tony sat, tipped back in his chair with the bottle of scotch, thinking over what an utter fuck up he'd just been. He wasn't cut out for this. Peter needed more than Tony could offer—that was clear. He took another pull from the bottle, grimacing at the burn. Why couldn't he get anything right?

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, drifting off into thought, hoping for the relief of sleep. It didn't come, though. FRIDAY's voice interrupted him, snapping him back to reality. Steve was waiting outside the workshop.

"Let him in," Tony said, setting the bottle down on the counter and rubbing his eyes.

"Tony," Steve said flatly, eyeing the bottle. "I see you've been drowning your sorrows."

Tony shrugged. "Just needed to decompress."

"That's all and good, but there's a boy upstairs that needs you."

Tony sighed. "I think you and Nat were right. I'm not cut out for this."

Steve walked over and picked up the bottle. "That's this talking. The Tony I know can do this. Peter needs you, and you need to pull yourself together and help him. We all need to help him."

"I just can't believe he hid this from us— _from me_."

"He's just a kid, Tony. He was probably scared of what you'd think and look at how that went. It takes a certain type of character to go throwing yourself in front of danger for others, especially at that age. He's special. He trusts you, Tony—talk to him."

He knew Steve was right. Peter was something special. Tony needed to pull his shit together and get his head on straight. It wasn't about him. It was about Peter.

"You're right." He scrubbed a hand over his rough face. Damn, he needed to shave. "I should go talk to him." He glanced at Steve. "You're coming, right?"

"I think you should talk to him alone," Steve said. "I've got some training to do anyway."

When Tony walked out of the elevator on the communal floor, he saw Clint and Peter sitting together on the couch. Tony drew a deep, steeling himself for the conversation he needed to have, but before he could make it to more than a few steps into the room, Clint was up and on the move, making a beeline towards him and waving him off to the side.

Tony raised a brow.

Clint pointed to the elevator and motioned for Tony to follow him inside. "Come on. We need to talk."


	10. Revelations

Tony sat in the boardroom chair, elbows on the table and his head resting in his hands. He listened painfully as Clint told him what he had learned from Peter. His mind supplying images of Peter curled up on the floor as he was beaten by some drunken bastard. He could feel his blood pressure rising the more Clint spoke. It all confirmed what he had suspected, what he dreaded. Peter had been through hell—he'd been abused. When Clint got to the part of about the drinking, how he was scared, he felt physically ill.

"I think we can both agree we need to find this bastard," Clint said.

Tony drew a breath and leaned back in his chair, running a hand over his face. "Yeah, we can't leave him out there. Peter deserves justice."

Clint nodded, a dark glint in his eye. "What are we going to do with him when we find him?"

"Break his jaw."

Clint crossed his arms over his chest. "With you there."

"Jack's not the only problem. We need to look into this winged asshole, too. He's a real risk and tied to the tech that's been going missing."

"No arguments there," Clint said. "Peter's got enough on his plate right now. Honestly, I think it might be good to get him out of the city for a bit, let him relax. Maybe he'll open up some more."

"What were you thinking?"

"My farm," Clint said. "My wife and kids would welcome the company. Maybe Steve could stay behind and look into the winged guy, and the rest of us, if they want, could take the Quinjet out of the city. A little Avenger's retreat."

Tony mulled it over for a moment. It wasn't a bad idea. "Sounds like it might be a good idea, but we need to run it by Peter first. I think he should get some say. He's had enough people pushing him around for a lifetime."

"Definitely," Clint agreed.

"Why don't you go sit with Peter for a few? I'll make some calls. I need to get Pepper up to speed on everything before we leave the city."

"I don't envy you." Clint chuckled. "Good luck, man."

The archer walked out of the boardroom, the door clicking closed behind him. Tony pulled his phone from his pocket, his finger hovering over Pepper's picture on the screen for a minute before he hit the button to dial.

"Tony, about time you returned my call. You know you missed four meetings this week?"

"I'm sorry, Pep." Tony sighed, leaning back in his chair.

"What's going on? And please don't say the world's ending. I can't handle that right now with all these suits breathing down my neck."

"Whoa, take a breath," he said, hoping to calm her. "The world's not ending, but you should probably sit down."

"You're using that voice right now, the one you use before doing something foolish."

Tony huffed a laugh. "I didn't realize I had a voice."

He heard Pepper sigh. "Tony …"

"Just sit down and hear me out. It's nothing terrible, but it is something I probably should have told you sooner."

A few beats passed before she spoke again. "Fine, go ahead. I'm sitting. Wait, do I need a drink first?"

"Maybe."

He heard her sigh again. "Let me pour some wine."

"Ready?" Tony asked.

"Yeah, hit me with it."

"So, a few things. I'll try to just hit the important points. I found a homeless kid and kinda took him in, turns out he's actually Spider-Man, and I am sort of in the process of gaining guardianship of him." He paused for a moment, but Pepper didn't speak, so he continued. "He really needs our help, Pep. He's been through a lot. He deserves some help."

There was dead silence on the other end.

"Pepper?"

"Just give me a second to wrap my brain around this. You, Mr. Irresponsible, want to be responsible for another human being?"

Tony frowned. "I wouldn't say it exactly like that. I think I'm pretty responsible."

"Tony …"

"Pepper, meeting him had changed me—I'm feeling things. I can't explain it."

"Feeling things?"

"Yes, actual emotions," Tony said. "Look, I'm telling you because I want you to be part of this, and well, I also need your help. I'm heading out of the city with him and some of the team. He needs a break. I need you to handle things for me. Steve is gonna stay behind if the city needs saving."

"Jesus, Tony," Pepper sighed. "This is a lot to take in. You're really serious about this."

"So, will you help?"

"I'll rearrange some meetings and teleconference the ones I can't," Pepper said. "I won't be home for a few more days, though, but when I get back, I'd like to meet him. He's gonna be part of our lives—not just yours."

Tony smiled. "I think you'll love him. He's a sweet kid, just a little skittish. He's had a rough life. I don't know all the details, but his last foster home was abusive." Tony closed his eyes. "He's so scared, Pep—scared of everything, but at the same time, he's so brave. He puts on that suit and jumps in front of danger."

"He sounds like a good kid. What's his name?"

"Peter," Tony said. "Peter Parker."

"I like it," she said. "Well, I hate to cut this short, but the time difference is killing me, and I really need some sleep. Will you be okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be okay. I had a small meltdown already, but I've recovered. Getting away from the city for a few days will help."

There was a soft knock at the door, and Tony looked over, Clint was peeking his head in the room.

"He wants you," Clint whispered.

Tony nodded. "I've gotta go, Pepper. He needs me and thank you."

"No problem. Go take care of him and don't forget to take care of yourself, too."

Tony ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket. He pushed himself from the chair and walked over to Clint. "I explained things to Pepper. She's gonna keep my schedule clear so we can head out, but we still need to get the others briefed and onboard. You think you can do that while I talk to Peter?"

"No problem," Clint said, grabbing his phone and turning to walk out of the room.

Tony took a breath and ran his hand through his hair. He'd faced a lot of things but facing Peter was far more nerve-wracking than anything from his past. He didn't want to screw up again.

He walked out of the boardroom and made his way back to the communal floor. Peter was still on the couch, head down, his gaze on his hands that were clasped in his lap.

"Hey, kiddo," Tony said, walking closer.

Peter looked up. "Hey."

"How's the leg?"

Peter shrugged. "Doesn't hurt much anymore."

"You sure? You want something for the pain?"

The boy shook his head. Silence lingering between them until Peter finally spoke. "What did Clint want to talk about?"

Tony's brows pinched together. "You heard us?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to—are you mad?"

"No, I'm not mad at all, Peter," Tony said. "I just didn't realize you had enhanced hearing, though I should have considered it an option." He walked over and sat down beside Peter. "Wait, so you've probably heard our other conversations, too."

Peter's gaze stayed locked on his hands. "Yeah, I have. I know what you think of Spider-Man."

"Peter …"

"It's okay."

"No, it's not. I need you to listen to me," Tony said firmly, ducking his head to meet Peter's gaze. "I was wrong about Spider-Man. I didn't know. I'm sorry."

Peter looked over at him, teary-eyed. "I tried so hard to do good. My Uncle Ben—it was my fault."

"I read your file, Peter. It wasn't your fault."

"Yes, it was. I had my powers. I had the chance to stop the man earlier that night, but I didn't. You don't understand. I could have done more." Peter was hiccupping between words now, tears streaming down his cheeks. "I could have stopped it all from happening, but I was so stupid. I just thought it was a game. I didn't take my powers seriously—"

"Peter, stop," he said. "You can't blame yourself. We all make mistakes. You're just a kid."

"With great power, comes great responsibility." Peter's hands were fisted in his lap. "My Uncle Ben told me that."

Tony sighed, reaching out slowly and putting a hand on Peter's shoulder. "Take a breath, kiddo. You're Uncle Ben was right, but you haven't let him down. Please believe me, Peter."

The silence returned, and Tony let it stay. He knew Peter needed a moment to collect himself. Eventually, Peter wiped his eyes with his sleeve and looked at him. "Did Clint tell you about Jack?"

"Yeah, he did." Toyn sighed. "I wish I could change what happened to you. It's not fair. I know what it's like to have an alcoholic father. Mine definitely didn't win any father of the year awards."

"Are you gonna go after him?"

"I don't like the idea of someone out there hurting kids." Tony gave Peter's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "I at least want to make sure he's not around them anymore."

"Will you hurt him if you find him?"

"I don't know," Tony said honestly.

"I … I don't want to be like him," Peter said. "I don't want to hurt people. I just want him locked up, so he can't hurt anyone else again."

"Okay, we can do that," Tony said, thumb rubbing back and forth against Peter's shoulder. "What do you think of leaving the city for a bit, going to the country and living the farm life for a few days?"

Peter sat still for a minute, and Tony watched him. Then he looked up from his hands and met Tony's gaze, his mouth twitching like he almost wanted to smile. "I haven't been to a farm before."

"Then you're in for a treat, kid. Though, there isn't much to swing around from there. Speaking of, I want to pick that brain of yours about your web-shooters sometime. Those your design?"

"Yeah, they're the best I could do with scavenged parts."

Tony smiled. "Maybe, if you want, I could help you with them sometime."

"I'd like that," Peter said. "I think I'd like that a lot."


	11. Home Sweet Home

"Everyone all set," Clint asked, looking over his shoulder with a grin. "I have to say, I can't wait to get home. Cooper and Lila are gonna be so excited."

Peter wrapped his fingers around the belt that strapped him into the seat. He'd flown before in the Quinjet, but that time he was injured, and his mind was elsewhere. This felt different. Truth be told, Peter didn't care for planes—not since his parents died in a crash. Who would after something like that, but he felt surprisingly safe with Natasha and Clint in the cockpit.

He looked over to his right, and Tony was watching him with worried eyes, almost like he expected him to shatter at any moment—like he was made of glass. Bruce was behind him, and Peter could feel his gaze on him as well. It was hard getting used to being the center of attention.

He felt tired, not in the way that you needed sleep, but in the way that your soul ached for rest. He had been through so much. Part of him wanted to go to Clint's house, but another wanted to be in the city, doing his job, protecting people, proving his worth. He felt like he was letting down New York, letting down his uncle's memory.

There was a weightless shift beneath him, making his stomach do a little flip, and then they were off. Peter closed his eyes and rested his head back. Tony had told him it wouldn't be a long trip in the jet, which he was thankful for as he quickly discovered flying wasn't for him. It was overwhelming for his senses—the noise, the vibrations, the thoughts of his parents. It made his head hurt—it made his heart hurt.

"You alright, Peter." Tony's voice cut through his thoughts. "You're looking a little a pale."

Peter didn't particularly want to open his eyes, let alone talk, so he decided on a nod.

"I didn't peg you for one to get motion sickness," Clint said from the cockpit.

Peter let out the breath he was holding. "It's just a lot. My senses are enhanced," he said, then whispered low, "and my parents, they died in a plane crash."

The air became heavy. No one dared speak. Peter didn't mean to make them feel bad. He didn't want pity. He hated that he'd made things awkward.

"I'm sorry," Natasha said, breaking the silence.

Peter looked up to see her soft eyes looking at him. The sincerity in them was evident. She truly cared.

"It's okay," Peter said, looking down, unable to hold her gaze. "It was a long time ago."

"That doesn't mean it makes it any easier," Clint chimed in. "It's okay for it to still hurt."

"Clint's right," Tony said. "I lost my parents, too. I've never stopped missing them, but the hurt gets better with time."

He lifted his head and looked to Tony. Something about knowing that they shared a similar past eased something in Peter's mind. For the first time in a long time, he felt like maybe he had someone he could relate to a bit.

Peter chewed his lip, giving Tony a small nod. "Thanks."

"Just try to relax. We'll be there before you know it."

The rest of the trip went quickly—as quickly as it could while you felt like puking and crying at the same time. Bruce and Tony chattered away about a few projects they were working on while Natasha and Clint talked about how excited the kids were gonna be to see them.

It had been a long time since he'd been around a family, especially a loving one like Clint's sounded. It almost made him scared, and he wasn't even sure why it did. It was like he didn't know how to act, how to be around people who cared. He didn't feel like he deserved it. He could still remember all the things that Jack would say to him, the things that cut him deeply, breaking him apart. As cheesy at it sounded, it felt Cinderella, and this was his ball—only a matter of time before it all came crashing down.

"Here we are, home sweet home," Clint announced.

The Quinjet landed, and Peter fumbled with his seatbelt. He was a bundle of nerves. Once he was free, he stood and looked to Bruce and Tony who were already standing beside him.

"You ready?" Bruce asked, soft eyes studying him.

Peter swallowed. He wished he could be honest, but he couldn't. The words weren't there, so Peter just nodded and looked at the floor. He thought he heard Tony sigh.

"Come on, kiddo," Tony said, his hand gently touching his back. "I think Clint and Natasha want to introduce you to some people."

The hatch opened, and they made their way out. Peter paused when he reached the open air. It was beautiful there. He had never been anywhere like it. There were fields of high grass edged by a dense tree line and stone walls. A few chickens roamed the yard.

The air smelled so clean compared to the city. The lines of the landscape weren't harsh and cold. It didn't assault his senses. Instead, it was soothing and gentle. He jumped when he heard a strange noise, gaining a laugh from Tony.

"That would be one of his sheep," Tony said. "Clint's got a regular old McDonald's farm thing going on."

Peter walked past Tony and up to the wooden fence, touching the grayed wood and looking out into the field at the three sheep that were roaming there. It was so peaceful.

"Daddy!" Came a small voice, causing Peter to spin and look. Running up from an old farmhouse was a little girl, arms outstretched, eyes locked on Clint.

"Lila! Baby girl, come here!" Clint said, running up to her.

A young boy with short brown hair wasn't far behind. He was the spitting image of his father. Clint picked up the girl, swinging her in the air. When the boy reached them, Clint knelt and hugged them both tightly.

A woman appeared on the porch, a hand on the small of her back. It was then that Peter noticed she looked to be pregnant. Natasha smiled and jogged up to her.

"Laura, how's my little Natasha?" Natasha put her hand on the woman's belly.

"It's more of a little Nathaniel." She laughed.

Natasha spun and scowled at Clint. "You had one job, Barton."

Clint threw his head back and laughed. He let go of the kids and turned to Peter, nodding his head and motioning for him to come closer.

Peter hesitated for a moment. He felt like he was intruding. They all knew each other well. He was just an outsider. He was starting to feel like maybe this had been a bad idea.

"It's okay, Peter," Tony ducked leaned in to whisper. "I'll be right beside you. Nothing to worry about. You're safe here."

Tony patted him on the back, and he had to suppress a flinch. It wasn't Tony's fault. The man had done nothing wrong. It was the memories of Jack that haunted him. He wished he could move on from, but he didn't know how.

Together they walked up to meet Clint's family.

Clint was grinning ear to ear, an arm around his wife. "Peter, this is Laura. My wife." He reached and ruffled the boy's hair. "This trouble maker here is Cooper, and this cutie pie is my girl Lila."

"Hi," Peter said, raising his hand in a small wave. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too, Peter," Laura said with a warm smile. "I just made some lunch. How about we all head in and have something to eat? Then Cooper and Lila can show you where you'll be staying."

Natasha chatted with Laura on the walk back into the house, the kids clinging to Clint. Bruce gathered their bags from the jet while Peter followed behind Tony.

The house was warm and inviting. Everyone else seemed to be chit-chatting away about various things, but Peter was quiet. He felt uncomfortable even though he logically knew he shouldn't. He didn't deserve this kind of place, this kind of warmth.

Jack's voice was echoing in his mind. _You're a waste of space. You don't deserve a family. You're nothing._

He felt his hands begin to shake, and he clenched them into fists, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to block out his own torturous thoughts. His nails dug into his palms, the little stabs of pain grounding him.

The room suddenly seemed to go quiet. Peter couldn't tell if he was lost in his mind or if everyone had fallen silent.

Suddenly, a soft voice spoke. "It's okay, Peter." It was Natasha. "You're okay. Tony is right here. I'm right here. We all are."

Peter tried to focus on her voice, but knowing they were all watching him fall apart was too much. He looked around the room, taking in their concerned expressions. He didn't want to be pitied. Before anyone could stop him, he bolted out the door.

"Peter, Wait!" Clint called after him.

Peter just needed to get away, though. He needed to feel the wind on his face. He wanted to be high up and above it all. Peter glanced around and saw a silo. He ran to the ladder and scaled it quickly. He didn't look behind him to see if he was followed. His heart was hammering in his chest. Jack's words were still playing on repeat in his mind. He didn't deserve what they were offering. Clint's family was perfect—he'd just tarnish that, bring them down. He was broken.

He reached the top of the silo and sat down, catching his breath, his hands shaking still.

He glanced back towards the house. Tony was walking slowly toward him. He looked hurt, and it made Peter feel even worse. He wished he could stop having these breakdowns.

Peter drew his knees up and wrapped his arms around them, trying to calm himself. He knew it would only be moments before Tony climbed up the ladder to join him.

The sound of someone climbing the rungs proved him right, and a moment later, Tony was beside.

"Leave it to you to find something tall," Tony said, he kept looking over the edge hesitantly. "Have I mentioned I don't like heights, well, without my suit."

"Sorry," Peter said, looking over his shoulder at Tony who was carefully scooting over to him.

"I fully expect you to catch me with your webs if I fall," Tony said. "I have imagined plenty of ways to die but falling off a grain silo wasn't one of them." Tony finally shuffled over to him, thankfully without falling. "So, want to tell me what happened back there?"

Peter shrugged. "It's hard to explain."

"Try me."

Peter rested his head on his arms, looking out over the fields. "I don't deserve this."

"What do you mean you don't deserve this? Of course, you do. What would make you think that?"

Peter sat quietly for a moment, not sure how to respond. He drew a breath, exhaling slowly, trying to stop the ache in his chest from turning to a full meltdown. "He used to say things—when he was hitting me—telling me I wasn't good enough. I guess maybe I still believe some of it."

"Peter." Tony sighed. "I need you to listen to me. I know it's hard, but you need to believe me about this. Nothing that piece of shit said to you was true."

"He would say I was nothing, not worth a family as he … as he hit me. It was hard not to believe him after a while."

He heard Tony groan. "Peter, I know you don't want us to hurt him, but I … It's going to take everything I have not to kill him. What he did to you …"

"It's okay, really. I'm fine."

"This isn't fine," Tony said. "This is lightyears from fine. You're shaking like a leaf. That's why I wanted to bring you here, so you can relax and let us help you. We all care about you, kiddo."

Peter looked over at Tony. "I don't like feeling like this."

"I know." Tony's calloused hand rested on his neck and rubbed it gently. "We'll make this better. I promise, but can we get the hell down from here?" He laughed. "I think the others are probably worrying about where you went."

"I'm sorry," Peter said. "I didn't mean to upset everyone."

"Easy, kiddo," Tony said. "Stop blaming yourself. This isn't your fault. Now, what do you say we head in and grab some of Laura's lemon bars before Clint devours them all?"

Peter nodded. "Thanks for everything, Tony."

Tony squeezed his shoulder and then made to climb down. "No problem, kiddo. Now can we blow this popsicle stand or what?"

"Yeah, let's go," Peter said with a nod.


	12. Moonlight and Rooftops

Peter tried to relax on the bunk he was sharing with Cooper, the other boy sleeping soundly below him. They had been at the farm for two days already, and so far, Peter had kept to himself. It wasn't that he didn't like everyone; it just that being there reminded him of the life he'd never have—a family he'd never get again.

It was almost disconcerting how quiet it was there, so different from the city. He was so used to the constant buzz of stimuli that in its absence, he felt a little lost. He wished he could sleep like everyone else, but his mind wouldn't shut off. He worried about Queens—the people who needed his protection. He felt guilty for not being there. What if someone died that he could have saved? It made him think of his Uncle Ben and how he'd failed to protect him.

He could remember the blood, wet and warm on his fingers, the metallic tang in the air as his uncle bled out on the cold pavement. Peter squeezed his eyes shut and tried to push the memory away, but it seemed to only focus his mind on it more. He needed air. He needed to get outside—it was like he could feel the walls closing in.

Listening to the rest of the house for signs of movement—of anyone being awake, he carefully slipped down from the top bunk, dropping onto the balls of his feet without making a sound. He stayed frozen for a moment, hands out at his sides, watching Cooper's face for any signs of waking. Satisfied that he was safe, he tiptoed across the bedroom to the window.

The old window protested as he slid it up, but not loud enough to wake anyone. With a quick look around the room, he climbed out and scaled the side of the house to the roof. He made his way over to the old porch where it wasn't as steep. Sitting and pulling his legs up, he wrapped his arms around his knees.

It felt like someone was squeezing his chest, making it hard to breathe. He felt trapped in his mind. He knew he was heading towards a panic attack and needed to calm down.

He tried to focus on what was around him—trying to distract himself. The first thing he noticed was how clean and crisp the night air was. It felt soothing against his senses. The moon shone brightly—the stars sharp and bright. It felt surreal to him, having never been outside of the city.

He found his mind drifting to all the people he'd lost. It seemed everyone who touched his life met a terrible fate. It was a curse he carried, and now he worried about the new people entering his life. What fate would befall them? Would his presence in their lives hurt them in the end? He honestly didn't know why he deserved their affection. He'd done nothing to earn a place amongst the heroes who had taken him under their wing.

He sat lost in thought until the sky began to lighten—darkness melting away, stars fading back from the reaches of the sun as it crested the horizon. He rubbed his eyes and then began to climb back to the window before Cooper could wake.

Slipping inside, he could hear Tony and Laura talking downstairs. He could smell coffee in the air. Needing a shower, Peter went to his duffel and grabbed some clothes that Tony had given him. He opened the creaky door and slipped into the hall, heading off to the bathroom for a shower.

The spray of the water felt good on him—even though it was hot enough to nearly burn. He hadn't bothered to add cold to it—he relished the sting of the water. It took away some of his emotional pain as it hit his skin.

He rinsed off the soap and shut the shower off, stepping out and grabbing a towel. He paused to look in the mirror before pulling on his shirt. His skin was still pink from the heat of the water, but what made him pause were the dark circles under his eyes from not sleeping. There was no way to hide them either. He knew Tony's sharp eye would catch them, causing the older man to worry.

Sighing, he tossed the towel in the hamper and grabbed his clothes off the floor, heading back to Cooper's room. He slipped into the room and went to where his duffel was sitting by the bed. He tossed the ball of laundry on top of it and turned to see Cooper pushing himself up onto an elbow, studying him.

"You're up early," Cooper said.

"Yeah, couldn't sleep. Did I wake you?" Peter asked.

Cooper shook his head. "No. It takes a lot to wake me up," Cooper said. "You okay? You don't look that good."

"Yeah," Peter said. "Just a lot on my mind."

"Homesick?"

Peter shrugged. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

"That sucks," Cooper said. "You like pancakes? My mom makes the best pancakes. Those always make me feel better."

Peter gave a small smile. "Pancakes are good. I haven't had them in forever."

"Your mom doesn't cook?" Cooper asked.

Peter swallowed down the painful lump forming in his throat before shaking his head. "My mom's gone. She died when I was little."

Cooper frowned. "I'm sorry. I don't know what I'd do without my mom," he said, looking contemplative. "Tell you what, you can share my mom. I don't mind."

Peter didn't feel like he deserved any of this—any of them. "That's … Thanks, Coop."

Cooper smiled and threw off his blankets. He was on his feet and stretching in nearly one move. "Cool, let's go see what Mom's making then."

xXx

Tony had just finished reading over some emails Pepper had sent over. They included updates from legal. It seemed everything was moving along smoothly. Whatever steps he needed to take to get guardianship, he would take. The only hiccup in his plan was talking to Peter about it. It was just that every time he tried, he would lose his nerve—afraid of the chance Peter would reject him.

He looked up from his phone as he heard Peter and Cooper making their way to the kitchen, chatting about Legos. Apparently, Peter really wanted to build the Death Star. He made a mental note to order it and any others he might like when they got back to the tower.

Cooper zoomed past the table to his mother's side as Peter came and sat beside him. The moment Tony's eyes met Peter's, he knew something was up. He was taken aback by the look of sheer exhaustion on the kid's face—the dark circles under his eyes. Had he slept at all?

Peter shifted under his gaze. "Morning."

"Morning, kiddo," Tony said. "Aren't teenagers supposed to sleep till noon or something?"

Peter shrugged in reply.

Coming to Clint's was supposed to be relaxing, not stressing him out more. He wanted to reach out to him—put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, but he didn't know if it would be welcomed, so instead, he set his phone down and turned to him.

"So, I'm guessing you didn't have a good night?" Tony asked.

Peter shrugged again. "Couldn't sleep."

"You wanna talk about it? We could go sit on the porch. Get away from everyone."

Another shrug. "It's stupid."

Tony raised a brow. "Not stupid if it's keeping you from sleeping."

"I don't really need much sleep."

"The bags under your eyes say different," Tony argued. "Come on, let's go sit on the porch while Clint's better half makes breakfast."

"Don't worry, Peter," Cooper said from across the room. "We won't eat without you."

"Let me go grab some more coffee then we can head out." Tony pushed back his chair and walked over to the coffee maker, grabbing the carafe and filling his cup. It was nearly viscous given how many scoops of grounds Clint had dumped into the machine. It really was like tar, but Tony didn't mind. He needed the extra caffeine since everyone there seemed to wake up at the crack of dawn. Usually the only time Tony saw the sunrise was when he had pulled an all-nighter.

Grabbing his cup, he walked to the table where Peter sat. The kid was the picture of anxiety, picking his nails and bouncing his leg. Wanting to do something to reassure the boy—even if it was the wrong thing—he reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. "You alright? We don't have to talk if you don't want to, but I just thought it might help. No pressure either way, though."

Peter looked up, meeting his gaze. "No, it's okay," he whispered. "I could use some fresh air."

Tony gave Peter's shoulder another squeeze. "Alright, let's go then."

They walked out onto the porch, sitting beside each other on the porch swing.

"So," Tony said, looking out over the high grass in the fields and taking a sip of his coffee. "Would I be warm if I guessed it's nightmares keeping you awake?"

Peter toyed with the hem of his shirt. "Wasn't a nightmare. Just my stupid brain that wouldn't shut up."

Tony hummed in response, taking a sip of his coffee. "I get that way too, sometimes. Pepper's always telling me I overthink things."

"It's just so stupid. I wish stuff didn't bother me like it did."

Tony rubbed the side of the cup with his thumb. "Sometimes talking about it can help."

"Yeah, I guess," Peter said.

"You know I won't judge you, right?"

Peter shrugged—his face blank and eyes glassy, staring straight ahead. He looked lost.

"Peter, you okay?"

Peter blinked and gave a shaky nod, licking his lips. Tony's heart ached for the kid. It wasn't fair what he carried on his shoulders. Tony wished he could take some of the burdens.

"I talked to Cooper this morning." Peter paused. "He said I could share his mom. Think he feels bad for me."

Tony felt out of his depth. He was never good with emotions, but he needed to learn fast to help Peter. He just hoped he didn't screw it up and say the wrong thing.

"That was nice of him. Clint's got some good kids," Tony said. "Though Laura should get most of the credit, in my opinion. She's a great lady."

Peter hummed. "I'd like to think my parents were like them. I wish I could remember," Peter confessed. "When I was little, I'd imagine all these scenarios in my head—like them picking me up from school or taking me to the park." Peter looked at Tony. "Stupid, isn't it?"

Tony shook his head. "Sounds pretty normal to me."

Peter slumped back on the bench. "Aunt May and Uncle Ben—they tried to be there for me, but it wasn't the same. They didn't choose me. I don't even know if they wanted kids."

Peter looked down at his hands where he was pulling free a thread from his shirt.

"Peter," Tony said firmly. "Look at me."

Peter bit at his lip before sighing and looking over.

"Listen to me about this. It's important," Tony said. "Don't ever think your aunt and uncle didn't want you. Maybe they hadn't planned on a kid, but that doesn't mean they didn't love you or want you any less."

Peter didn't look like he believed him, but he nodded, nonetheless. "It just feels like I let everyone down. The only part of me that's worth anything is Spider-Man—putting on the suit. When I do that, I get to be someone else—save people. People need Spider-Man. No one needs— _no one wants_ —Peter Parker."

Tony couldn't believe how broken-down Peter's self-worth was. There was no doubt that Peter one hundred percent believed what he said about himself—that he thought he wasn't worth it. It was something that Tony needed change.

"Peter," Tony said. "I didn't invite Spider-Man to the tower that day in the coffee shop—I invited you, Peter Parker. I saw a good kid that been dealt a shit hand, and I knew that there was something I could do about it. I couldn't walk away—I didn't want to walk away."

"I thought … I don't know what I thought," Peter said. "It's just … It's hard to think past the stuff Jack used to say to me. It plays over and over in my head sometimes, and I can't stop it."

"The way you were treated was all kinds of wrong," Tony said. "No one deserves that. I'm not gonna lie and say things are gonna get better overnight because they aren't, but they can get better with therapy, with support, with friends. You won't always have that bastard's voice in your head—not if there's anything I can do about it."

Peter drew a shaky breath, letting it out slowly as he wrung his hands. When he spoke, his voice was unsure. "You really want me around? You're not just saying that?"

"I swear, Peter," Tony said. "I've never wanted anything more in my life. You're stuck with me, kid."


	13. Take it Away

"Afternoon, everyone," Clint said, walking into the kitchen.

Tony, Bruce, and Natasha were sitting around the table, engrossed in various things. Tony's eyes were glued to his tablet, Bruce was buried in a book, and Natasha was playing something on her phone. None of them looked up.

Clint felt good. He'd gotten a full night's sleep with his wife curled up in his arms. Coming home recharged him like nothing else could. He wished he could stay forever, but he knew they had to return to the city soon. He didn't want to think about the goodbyes. They were always painful. He just wanted to focus on the present a little longer.

"Nice hair," Laura teased, looking over her shoulder at him from where she stood by the sink. "Did you even try to comb it?"

He walked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, hands coming to rest on her belly. "Nah, I kinda like this look. Low maintenance."

She chuckled. "Looks like a bird's nest."

He shrugged, rubbing his hands over her stomach. "How are you holding up?"

She leaned back against him, hands coming to rest over his. "I'm tired, and my feet hurt, but I'm glad you're home—even if it's only for a short visit. We've missed you."

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. "I love you. You know that, right?"

"Never doubted it for a minute," Laura said. "Now, let me get back to dishes before kids get back inside."

"Fine," he huffed, letting her go.

He poured himself a coffee then walked over to the table where the others were still sitting, taking an empty chair across from Tony.

"So, what's got you looking so constipated?" he asked Tony, trying to look over the table at the man's tablet.

"Hmm?" Tony hummed, not looking up. "You say something?"

Clint rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. "Yes, I was asking what's up. You look too serious for it to be good."

Tony rubbed a hand over his face. "It's not. I got a message from Steve. He's not having any luck tracking down the bird guy or the tech. Everything has been a dead end so far. Though on a positive note, there hasn't been a heist in days."

"That's something," Clint said, reaching over and snagging a piece of toast from Bruce's plate. The scientist looked up from his book, pushing his plate to Clint, who happily accepted it. "Maybe we should head back early."

Tony put down the tablet, reaching for his coffee. "We might have to, but we need to keep it under wraps—at least until I can talk to Peter. I don't want him involved. He's got enough on his plate. Honestly, I'd like him to hand up the suit. There's no reason he needs to go out there getting himself hurt."

Natasha raised a brow. "You really think that's a good idea?"

"I won't watch him get killed."

"Tony," Bruce said. "With everything that Peter's been through, I'm not sure taking Spider-Man from him is a good idea."

"Look, guys," Tony said. "I know we're a team, but at the end of the day, I'm the most responsible for him. Spider-Man is grounded starting now. It's nothing against Peter. It's just not safe for him out there. If something happens to him, it's on _me_."

Clint shook his head. "I think you're making a mistake."

"What would you like me to do?" Tony asked, leaning back in his chair and tossing up a hand. "We've seen him after fights. We've seen him hurt. We can't let him go back to that. I care too much to let him die in some alley because he bit off more than he could chew!"

There was a slam of a door, and Clint caught sight of Peter running passed the window, heading toward the barn.

"Shit," Tony said, moving to stand. "I need to go after him."

Clint pointed his finger at Tony. "You're the last person he needs to talk to right now."

"I'm exactly who he needs to see."

Clint shook his head. "Trust me on this. I know kids, and that one doesn't want to talk to you right now."

Tony glared a Clint for a moment. "Fine, go after him."

Clint nodded and then hurried out the door, jogging across the lawn toward the barn, passing his kids on the way. Cooper was pushing Lila on the tire swing.

"Daddy," Lila yelled, grabbing his attention.

Cooper brought the swing to a halt.

"Is Peter okay?" Lila asked. "He looked like he was crying."

"Yeah, sweet pea," Clint said. "He's just feeling a little sad. I'm gonna go talk to him."

"Why's he sad?" she asked.

"Can't tell you that, jelly bean," Clint said, "but I promise I'll do everything I can to make him feel better, okay?"

She nodded.

"Good," Clint said. "Why don't you and your brother head inside and help your mom with lunch. I'll be in after I talk with Peter."

"Okay, daddy." Lila jumped out of the swing. "Race you there, Coop."

The kids took off toward the house and Clint crossed the rest of the distance to the barn. He stepped through the large doorway. It was dark inside, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust.

It wasn't hard to find him. He was sitting on the ground by the far wall, back against some hay bales. His knees were pulled up, fingers knotted in his hair. It looked like he was in the middle of a panic attack, his breaths coming in wheezing gasps.

Not wanting to scare him or make things worse, he approached slowly.

"Pete?" Clint asked. "Short stack? Can you hear me?"

There was no response.

"I'm gonna sit next to you, okay?" Clint said.

The boy didn't respond. He was still trapped within the grip of his own panic.

Clint was careful to move slowly as he approached. He sat just inches from Peter—their shoulders nearly touching. Peter didn't so much as acknowledge his presence beside him.

"Kiddo, I need you to listen to me, alright? You need to slow your breathing. This isn't good for you. Can you listen to my voice, try to follow my lead?"

He wasn't sure if it was just a twitch, but Clint was pretty sure he saw a tiny nod. "Okay, that's good. Let's start small. I need you to copy my breaths, okay? It's hard, but you can do it. Nice and slow—take a deep breath in. You can do it."

Peter struggled, but after a few minutes, he managed a stuttering breath.

"Good. Now just hold it for the count of three—now let it out," Clint coached. "That's great. Now try again."

Following Clint's lead, Peter slowly gained control back over his breathing, but he was still far from okay. His eyes were puffy from crying. He sniffled and wiped his sleeve over his face.

"I take it you heard everything," Clint said, resting his forearms on his knees, looking at Peter.

Peter sniffled and wiped at this face again. "You don't need to be here."

"I have to disagree with you there, kid," Clint said. "The last thing you need is to be alone right now."

"I just want to go home, back to the city."

"You mean back to the streets," Clint said.

Peter shrugged a shoulder. "I can't give it up. I can't stop being Spider-Man. I won't."

"Look." Clint sighed. "I know it can't be easy for you right now, but we want to help—Tony wants to help, even if he doesn't know his ass from his elbow sometimes. The man is a genius, but he doesn't always act it."

"Doesn't matter," Peter said, looking away. "I should have seen it coming. He never liked Spider-Man. It was only a matter of time before he did this. I was stupid for thinking he cared."

"I've got to stop you there, kid," Clint said. "What Tony said—wanting to sideline Spider-Man—he said _because_ he cares, not the other way around."

"He doesn't think I can handle myself."

"Peter, this is all new for Tony. I've known him for a while now, and you've got to understand something about him, emotions? Those aren't his thing," Clint said. "I probably shouldn't tell you this, but Tony didn't have a great childhood either. His dad messed with his head pretty bad. He didn't have a good role model to learn from, but he's trying his best to be better for you."

Peter snagged a few pieces of hay from the bale and began twisting them in his fingers. "I won't give up Spider-Man. I'll run before I do. You guys will never see me again."

"None of us want that—I don't want that," Clint said. "Just give me some time. Let me and the others talk to him. I'm sure we can find some middle ground somewhere. Deal?"

"Yeah, I guess," Peter mumbled, resting his head on his knees. "Is it okay if we stay here for a while longer? I'm not ready to talk to anyone else yet."

"Sure thing, kiddo," Clint said, adjusting his legs and leaning his head back against the hay bale, getting comfortable. "We can stay as long as you want."

xXx

"Tony," Natasha warned. "Clint's got this. You need to trust him."

Tony paced the living room. "It should be me out there talking to him, not Clint."

"Listen, I agree with Nat on this," Bruce said. "You just threatened part of Peter's identity—Spider-Man is part of him. I think being Spider-Man helps him cope. Give him a bit to cool down."

Tony sighed. "I just want him safe. It's not like I was taking away Spider-Man forever. He's just too young right now."

"Maybe, maybe not," Natasha said, "but I don't think that's for us to decide. I've seen Spider-Man fight. He can take care of himself, and we could always train him to be better."

Tony shook his head. "Just because you got started young, doesn't make it right. He should be focusing on school, on getting therapy—not stopping muggers and bank robbers. He's a kid, Nat. He's fourteen. You've seen the bruises. I can't let him go back out there."

"You won't be able to stop him," Natasha said. "I've seen the look in his eyes. He won't stand by while there are people out there who need him. You can't change who he is, Tony. You can only try to be there for him."

"I can't sit back and watch him get hurt," Tony said. "He's out there in pajamas for fuck's sake."

"Maybe we're looking at this the wrong way," Bruce said, looking up from his spot on the couch. "I think we can all agree, trying to take Spider-Man away won't work. If we tried that, it'd probably be the last time we saw him, but maybe we can do something else."

"What do you suggest?" Natasha asked.

"Make him safer," Bruce said. "Get him the best gear, train him—make it safer for him to be out there. Maybe install an AI that can reach us directly if he gets in trouble."

"I don't know," Tony said. "I don't know if enabling him is the right thing to do."

"I'm not sure that matters," Natasha said with a shrug. "It's all we got."

The porch door creaked open, and Tony turned. He watched as Clint guided Peter toward the kitchen, neither so much as looking in his direction.


	14. Communication

Peter packed the last of his clothes, zipping the bag shut. They were leaving as soon as everyone finished saying their goodbyes. He couldn't wait to get back to the city. Ever since he'd overheard Tony and the others talking, things had been awkward, to say the least. No one seemed ready to talk about the elephant in the room, but he was okay with that. He needed time to think before having that conversation.

He knew that Tony didn't take Spider-Man seriously. He spoke like it was a hobby, something that he could just give up, but it was so much more than that. When he put on the suit, he could forget the baggage he carried, the pain and fear inside him. Spider-Man stood when Peter would cower. He was his strength. If he let go of that, he'd have nothing.

Bag packed, Peter made his way downstairs. Everyone was gathered in the living, saying their goodbyes.

It was bittersweet leaving, but he was glad to be going home. He said goodbye to Laura and the kids, making sure to thank them, too. Cooper was bummed he was leaving, but they promised each other to stay in touch. Lila had drawn him a picture to take with him. It was of the two of them holding hands by the tree in the front yard. It made him smile. Ever since he had braided her hair during game night, she had adopted Peter as a brother.

The ride back to New York was tense. No one seemed willing to break the silence, and to make it worse, Tony kept stealing glances at Peter, his expression pained and tight. It reminded Peter of the conversation that was to come. It wasn't going to be easy. He knew that. There was so much that needed to be said. It wore Peter down just thinking about it. Not wanting to think about it anymore, he curled up on the seat, resting his head against the wall, hoping to sleep the rest of the way.

Clint's voice broke the silence sometime later. "We're landing in two, folks."

Peter sat up straighter, rubbing his eyes, surprised that he'd fallen asleep.

The jet landed smoothly, sending a wave of relief through him. He was finally back in the city—back where he belonged. He unbuckled and stood from his seat, stretching and rolling his shoulders. Tony watched him, expression tight, mouth set in a hard line. The unease of it made Peter want to run right then and there, but he'd made a deal with Clint to try and talk things out.

They all filed out and made their way inside. Peter followed behind Tony. It felt like he was walking to the gallows. It would be easier if he didn't care what Tony and the others thought, but he did. Like it or not, they had all begun working their way behind his carefully constructed walls.

As soon as they got inside, most of them scattered, leaving just Peter and Tony alone together in the living room for the communal floor.

"We should probably talk," Tony said, eyes soft and mouth turned down.

Peter looked down, not able to hold his gaze. He shrugged a shoulder. Peter didn't really want to talk. He thought the plan was for Clint to do the talking, not him. "We don't have to," Peter said. "I already know what you're gonna say anyway."

Tony raised a brow. "And what's that?"

Peter shrugged again. "That you didn't invite Spider-Man to stay here. You only invited me—that you don't want Spider-Man around."

Tony pinch the bridge of his nose. "Peter."

"No. It's fine. I get it," Peter said. "I'll just get my stuff and go."

"Okay, just stop and backup, rewind a little. I'm never said that," Tony said. "I think we're having a breakdown in communication. We're reading from whole different books here."

Peter lifted his head to look at him. "You didn't have to say it. It just makes sense."

"Wow," Tony said, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Is that really what your brain came up with? I never meant … Jesus, kid. I'm screwing this all up. This isn't how it's supposed to go." Tony closed his eyes, taking a breath and letting it out slowly. "I don't want you gone. I just want you safe. I don't want you dead before you can even drive a car."

"I can take care of myself," Peter said. "I'm not gonna get killed."

"Do I really need to remind you of how you hit a bridge going fifty?"

Peter narrowed his eyes. "I had it handled. You just don't trust me."

"Trust has nothing to do with this," Tony said. "I've seen you after a fight. Do you know what that does to me? Thinking of you dying in an alley somewhere. This world is full of people that would kill you without a second thought. Pajamas aren't going to stop a bullet. I can't handle the thought of putting you in the ground. You have a full life ahead of you—I don't want to see it cut short."

"This isn't for you to decide."

"Maybe not," Tony said, "but someone needs to look out for you. I don't see anyone else standing up."

Tony's words stung. The last person to stand up for him was dead, shot because he hadn't done anything to stop it.

"I didn't ask you to care."

"Too bad. I started caring when I first saw you sitting in the rain. I'm committed now, kid. You're just gonna have to learn to deal because I'm not going anywhere."

"I won't hang up the suit," Peter said. "I won't walk away. You can't make me."

Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don't want to fight about this."

"Then don't ask me to do something I can't."

"Peter." Tony sighed. "All I want is for you to hold off for a while. Get some years as a kid under your belt. You've been through enough. You deserve a break more than anyone."

He could feel the sting of tears in his eyes, and he clenched and unclenched his fists at his side.

"You don't understand. You don't get why I do what I do. Those people out there." Peter pointed at the window. "They need me. It's my job to keep them safe. Mine. If I'm not out there, bad things are gonna happen."

"Peter, bad things will always happen. It's just how life is. It's not your job to protect everyone!"

"No! You're wrong," Peter snapped. "I have these powers. It's my responsibility. If I do nothing—people die."

"People die because life is shitty and unfair, not because of you," Tony said. "You can't take that burden all by yourself. Trust me. I know a thing or two about trying to shoulder the world. It never works out in the long run."

Peter shook his head, tears spilling down his cheeks. "You don't get it. Being Spider-Man doesn't just help the people out there. It helps me, too. When I put on the suit," he said. "I get to be someone who isn't afraid. It lets me forget about the pain."

"Peter." Tony sighed.

"Don't you see? I can't give it up," Peter said. "Please don't make me choose between you and the only thing holding me together."

Tony ran a hand through his hair. "I don't want you to have to choose. All I want is to give you a better life. I thought … I don't know what I thought. I guess I didn't think."

Peter wiped at his eyes with his sleeve, trying to dry his tears. He felt overwhelmed, his emotions snaking around him and constricting his every breath. He was trying desperately to get air, to ease the tight band around his chest. It felt like he was drowning.

"Kid, Pete, look at me," Tony said. "You don't need to get upset. We can work this out, alright? Just calm down."

Peter shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut, more tears rolling down his cheeks. It was all too much. His walls were crumbling. Everything he'd stuffed away was boiling to the surface.

He wrapped his arms around himself, his fingers digging into his sides, the little stabs of pain grounding him. He tried to keep his breaths even, but it was getting harder. He could hear his own heartbeat rushing in his ears.

Suddenly, arms were wrapping around him, pulling him tight against a chest. Peter tensed at the touch for a moment before relaxing into it.

"Easy, I've got you," Tony said. "You're alright. Just Breathe. Everything's gonna be fine, I promise. We'll figure this out."

The feeling of safety and reassurance kicked the final brick out of Peter's wall. It was like a dam had broken, and he began to sob into Tony's chest. He cried for everyone he'd lost, for everyone failed to save. He cried for himself, the part of him that would never be the same again. It all came tumbling out.

"Shhh, I got you," Tony said, rubbing circles on his back. "Just let it go. Let it all out."

And he did. Trembling and shaking and sobbing, it all came out, Tony acting as an anchor in the storm, the only thing keeping him from getting lost in the upheaval of emotion.

Eventually, his sobs gave way to stuttered breaths, and his tears began to dry. He felt lighter like he could breathe again, some of the weight he'd carried washed away.

Tony kept his arms around him, speaking softly against his hair. "How're you feeling, kiddo?"

Peter drew a shaky breath. "Stupid for crying all over you."

Tony shrugged, pulling back and looking at him over. "Don't. Nothing stupid about crying. Pepper could tell you stories about the times I've cried all over her. Don't feel bad. We all need to let go sometimes."

Peter nodded. "What happens now?"

"What do you mean?" Tony asked.

Peter looked down at his feet, a knot forming in his stomach. The truth still remained. Tony wanted him to hang up the suit. "I'm mean about Spider-Man."

"Okay, we do need to talk about that," Tony said. "Can you look at me?"

Peter glanced up, biting at his lip.

"Look, here's the thing, I screwed up. I might be a genius, but I don't always have the answers. I looked at the situation like a math equation. Spider-Man plus Peter equals an injured kid. I thought I could just remove a variable and it would all be okay," Tony explained. "I didn't think what that would mean for you, but I think I get it now. I never meant to make you feel like you had to choose. If you want to dress up like a bug and fight crime, I guess I'll just have to get used to it."

Peter blinked, trying to take in the new information. "You really mean it?"

Tony nodded. "It'll probably turn me gray, but I'll do my best to handle it. The only thing I ask is that you let me build you a better suit. I want you wearing more than glorified pajamas, and you need to train with us, too. There's still a lot for you to learn. You'll need to work hard."

"I'd really get to train _and_ get a new suit?" Peter's eyes widened.

Tony smiled. "I'll start on the suit tonight."


	15. Intrusions

Peter had barely seen Tony in days—more like a week—not that he was counting. He tried not to take it personally, Peter knew he was working on the new suit, but it was hard to not feel a little lost. Sure, he could try finding one of the others to hang out with, but other than Clint, he was still uneasy around them when Tony wasn't around. They were gone most of the time anyway. Clint and Natasha had disappeared after she received a mysterious phone call, and Bruce was always busy in his lab except for meals, which only left him with Steve, who was rarely around.

Peter's stomach growled and pulling him from his thoughts. He really needed to find something to eat soon. Tony wouldn't be happy if he didn't eat enough. He just hated leaving his room. Everything outside of it felt too big and open.

Deciding he should go find a snack, he braced himself and headed to the kitchen. It wasn't that he was trying to avoid people—but he didn't really want to bump into anyone either—which meant nearly colliding with Captain America as he walked into the kitchen was both disappointing and startling.

He looked up at Steve, whose eyes were wide, eyebrows reaching for his hairline. He held his hands like he was surrendering.

Peter took a stumbling step back, his anxiety going up a notch. He wished he could turn back time and stay in his room, avoiding the whole mess.

Seeming to notice his unease, Steve gave a small smile. "Sorry about that. You all right?"

"I'm fine. Not your fault. I wasn't really looking."

Steve drew a breath. He seemed uncomfortable. "I haven't seen you much lately. How've you been?"

Peter shrugged. "Okay, haven't had much to do—no suit."

Steve nodded. "Tony's working on that though, right?"

"Yeah, I think so," Peter said. "He had me come to his lab once to get measured."

"You must be looking forward to getting it back."

"Yeah, I miss being out there. People depend on me."

"What you do is important," Steve said, walking over to the cupboard. "You watch out for the little guy. I can admire that." He grabbed a box from the cupboard. "I'm making pasta. You want some?"

Peter's stomach growled loudly, causing him to blush.

Steve laughed. "I'll take that as a yes." He grabbed a large pot and began filling it with water. "Take a seat, kid. It'll be a few minutes."

He took a seat at the counter, watching Steve. His mind wasn't in a good place, though, his anxiety leading him down a dark road. He couldn't help but feel he was in the way. Steve probably didn't want him there. He was just being nice because he pitied him. He curled his arms around himself protectively, his shoulders dropping and gaze falling to the counter in front of him.

A few minutes later, Steve's voice broke through his thoughts. "Pete?"

He looked up, trying to straighten his shoulders and look less pathetic.

"You okay? You don't look too good," Steve said, drying his hands.

He didn't want to talk. It seemed like that's all he'd done lately. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Steve gave him an assessing look. "I know I'm not Tony or Clint, but you can talk to me. It can't be easy coming here. I wouldn't be surprised if you were feeling a little lonely. It's not like we've all been around much lately." Steve's tone was gentle. It sounded genuine. Peter didn't know what to make of it.

"I didn't think you liked me." The words tumbled from his mouth before his brain could stop them.

Steve's reaction was quick, straightening his posture, his brow furrowing. "What? Why would you think that?"

Peter looked down. His anxiety was creeping up. Something about Steve intimidated him. "You always get this look—like you're mad or something."

Steve shook his head. "I've never been mad at you. You've never done anything to be mad about."

"It's okay if you are. I get it."

Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I promise that I'm not. I've just had a lot on my mind lately. Tony's always joking that I look too serious. I guess he's right. I'm sorry that I made you feel that way. Please know I didn't mean it."

Steve passed him a plate of food.

He picked at it in silence, his stomach still knotted with anxiety. He wasn't sure if he fully believed him, but he didn't want to press it. It wasn't like his spidey sense was going off around him. It was just hard to trust people. He didn't like to admit it, but a tiny piece of him was scared of Steve even though he logically knew the man wouldn't hurt him. He was just so strong—so imposing. The dark part of Peter's mind imagined the pain he could inflict. He knew it wasn't fair to Steve, but he just couldn't seem to stop his thoughts.

They finished their meal, and Steve took the plates to the sink to wash. Peter used the distraction to head back to his room. Before he could get there though, the elevator doors opened, and a woman he hadn't seen before stepped out. She had red hair and delicate features, her clothes neat and professional. She carried herself with confidence, heels clicking on the floor as she walked. She scanned the room, her gaze falling on Peter. Her previously determined expression warmed into something soft and comforting. She smiled, head tilting ever so slightly to the side.

"You must be Peter," she said. "I don't know if Tony mentioned me, but I'm Pepper. I'm the one who keeps things running around here and Tony's better half. It's nice to finally meet you. Tony has told me a lot about you."

"Umm, hi," Peter said, toying with the hem of his sleeve. "He never … Tony didn't mention you."

She laughed, shaking her head. "I've known him long enough not to be insulted. So, how are you settling in?"

Peter shrugged. "Okay, I guess. It's different than what I'm used to."

"I can imagine this is a big change," she said. "If there's anything we can do to make it easier, just let me or FRIDAY know."

Peter tugged his sleeves down over his hands. "Thanks. I'm fine, though. This is all been really great."

She pursed her lips. "Tony mentioned something about Legos. I think he was planning to order some, but sometimes he can be a bit distractible. How about we pick some out, put in an order?"

She kept her hands clutched in front of her, a soft smile on her face as he thought over her offer.

She looked like she would be disappointed if he said no, so he nodded. "Yeah that's … that sounds okay."

Her smile widened, the corners of her eyes crinkling a little. "Great, let me grab my tablet, and we can start."

They spent over an hour sitting on the couch in the living room, scrolling through Lego kits and accessories. She told him a little about her relationship with Tony, how she'd been there through thick and thin. He was a bit nervous at first, but her warm personality acted quickly to put him at ease. She seemed to be genuinely enjoying herself. It was nice. It had been a long time since he had been around someone like her—it had been since his Aunt May. He imagined like his aunt, Pepper was a force to be reckoned with. She radiated strength and power just as much as she did warmth and calm. Her presence comforted him, chasing away his intrusive thoughts. He was happy to add her to the short list of people he trusted.

xXx

Needing a break from building Peter's suit, Tony waved away the holograms and looked to the mess of papers that were strewn across the table. Legal had sent over the documents to begin the process of obtaining guardianship.

They had been delivered to him earlier in the day, but he had yet to look them over. They represented so much. He knew he was at a crossroads in his life—one that would change everything.

He picked up his pen and twirled it in his fingers, looking over the forms. Little yellow tabs were pointing to where his signature was needed. He knew he shouldn't sign yet—not before talking to Peter, but it seemed like every time he tried to bring it up, the words got caught in his throat. He was afraid of breaking the fragile relationship they were forging. Things were going so well. He didn't want to rock the boat.

His hands shook as he tapped the pen on the table, chewing on his lip. He skimmed over the documents, the weight of them settling heavy on his shoulders. He had no doubts about how much he cared for the kid—how far he'd go—but that wasn't why his hands were shaking as he gripped the pen. It was his fear of failure. He didn't know how to be a parent, his own father a poor model to follow. There was so much he could do wrong—so many ways he could hurt the kid without even thinking. Peter deserved more than a broken man parading as a hero, but Tony was too selfish to let him go.

He rubbed his forehead, taking a steadying breath. He tightened his grip on the pen and then put it to paper. He scratched his signature beside the tabs. With the last spot signed, he slapped the pen down and sucked in a breath. He'd done it. He'd taken the leap. He really needed to talk to Peter—and soon.


	16. Burned

Peter clicked together two Legos. He was sitting on the floor of his room surrounded by little piles of the colored blocks. He was a quarter way through building the Millennium Falcon. He never thought he'd have the chance to build one—the price tag more than he ever dreamed of being able to afford. He'd shied away from asking for it because of the price, but Pepper was observant, catching the way he had stopped to look at it. He'd nearly choked when she added it to the cart, but she simply smirked and told him not to worry, that it was nothing compared to going car shopping with Tony.

Peter tried to focus on building, but his mind was elsewhere. Tony had come down that morning to tell him the suit would be done by the end of the day. He missed the freedom—the escape—that Spider-Man gave him. He couldn't wait to get back out there.

"Mr. Parker," FRIDAY spoke, making him jump. "I apologize for startling you. Boss is finished with your suit. He'd like you to meet him in his workshop at your earliest convenience."

Peter set aside the pieces he was working on and carefully stood up, avoiding the Legos on the floor.

He'd only been to the workshop once before, and it had been a quick visit. Tony had been engrossed in building the suit to show him around, only needing Peter for measurements.

He made his way down the few floors to where Tony was waiting. There was music blaring from the other side of the frosted glass door. He raised his hand to knock, but with a swish, the door slid open without prompting. He could see Tony by his computer furiously typing.

He hesitantly stepped inside. The music made his ears hurt, and he cringed, touching his ear.

"Mr. Stark," Peter said. "Tony?"

"Almost done," Tony said, tapping the keyboard, "and finished." He spun to look at Peter. He was smiling, but the bruising under his eyes spoke to how tired. Peter wondered if he'd been sleeping at all.

Tony bounced on the balls of his feet, rubbing his hands together. "You ready to see your new suit?"

He was more than ready. He had been itching to get back out there and get back to what he did best. He'd been sidelined long enough. "It's really done?"

"Yep, here you go," Tony said, grabbing a paper bag from the workbench. "I even gift wrapped it."

Peter couldn't help but smile at the man's enthusiasm. It was contagious. He couldn't wait to see what Tony had come up with. He walked over and took the bag from him, opening it quickly and pulling out the suit. He could already tell it was more than he could have hoped for. It was sleek, and the design was amazing, the colors sharp and vibrant. He grabbed the mask, looking over the details. The eyes looked awesome.

"Can I?" he asked, setting down the body of the suit to look over the mask.

"Go ahead. It's yours."

He pulled the mask over his head and immediately stumbled back at what he saw. There was a display full of information that he couldn't even process in front of him. It was awesome, and he could see so much better than with his old goggles. Things were dialed down, but everything was still crisp and sharp.

"Hello, Peter," a voice said from inside the mask, making his eyes go wide as he jumped. "I didn't mean to startle you. I'm—"

He yanked off his masked and looked at it in his hands, then looked to Tony, who was grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"What was that?" Peter said. "Someone was talking to me."

"That was your personal AI—artificial intelligence, kid," Tony explained. "She's your lifeline to me. She's like FRIDAY's little sister. She'll keep an eye on you and report back. If you get injured or she thinks you're in over your head, she'll alert me. Can't have the Spider-Baby getting hurt."

Peter scrunched up his nose at the name, looking down at the mask he held in his hands. "Can I turn it off?" He looked up at Tony.

Tony shook his head. "Nope. You want to fight crime before you can shave, then you got to deal with some rules."

Peter nodded, thinking it over. He lifted his chin. "What if I don't need your help? It seems stupid to bother you over nothing."

"I'd rather be bothered over nothing than find you dead," Tony said. "This isn't easy for me—letting you go out there. I'm not budging on this."

Peter knew to pick his battles, and it wasn't like he was losing by playing along. He knew Tony cared. The least he could do was try the suit out and see. If the monitoring turned out to be too much, he'd figure something else out. The truth was, the suit did look cool, and he really did want to try it. It was a vast improvement over the hoodie and sweatpants he'd worn in the past.

With a sigh, he nodded to the terms. "Alright, I guess. Can I try it out now?"

"Sure thing, kid," Tony said, "but I want you back by eleven. I think that's more than fair for now. We'll discuss adjusting it later if need be."

He wasn't used to having rules or a curfew. They were new to him, but that didn't mean he wasn't willing to try. He knew Tony cared, and he didn't want to make things harder on him.

"I won't be out late," Peter said. "I can be back."

"Good. Just do me a favor and try to stay low to the ground—no slamming into bridges—friendly neighborhood Spider-man and all that."

Peter nodded and thanked him, turning to leave. He couldn't wait to get out there again. He needed to let go and be someone else for a change—forget his own problems.

But before he could make it out the door, Tony spoke. "Hold up," he said, voice sounding a little strained. "There's something you should know—something we need to talk about before you go. It's something I've been meaning to talk to you about."

Peter turned to look at him, eyebrows knit together in concern.

Tony's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously. He watched as he grabbed a screwdriver and tossed it between his hands.

A hundred thoughts chased through Peter's mind—all of them worse than the next. Whatever he wanted to talk about, it wasn't going to be an easy conversation. He tried to brace himself for whatever was to come.

Tony cleared his throat, glancing around at everything but Peter. "Actually, you know what? It's nothing," he said, plastering on a fake smile that held no reassurance. "Go try out your suit. Have some fun. Oh, and don't forget to name your AI. It can make or break your relationship. A solid name's a must."

Peter studied him. He was lying, but he didn't know why or about what. He didn't like that Tony was keeping things from him. He thought things between them were getting better—that he could trust him—but maybe not. The thought of Tony purposely omitting something sent a sick note of betrayal through him. Maybe he was naïve thinking Tony could be trusted.

With a sick feeling in his stomach, he made his way out of the workshop and back to his room, suit clutched in his hands. He tried to push his conversation with Tony out of his mind, instead, focusing on that fact he'd soon be swinging through the city.

To say the new suit was an improvement would be doing it an injustice; it was everything and more than Peter could have imagined. It fit like a glove, moving with him. It didn't pull and tug at the shoulders like his old one. He didn't even mind the AI, finding it somewhat helpful so far. He hadn't come up with a name for her yet, referring to her only as 'suit lady,' but she didn't seem to mind. He didn't want to commit too early to a name and end up with the wrong one. Maybe he just needed to get to know her better. He figured when he found the right name, he'd know it.

"Hey, suit lady," Peter said, shooting out a web and swinging towards Queens. "Does it bother you I call you suit lady?"

"No, Peter. I'm programmed to accept whatever name you decide is appropriate."

"Hmm," Peter hummed. "Mr. Stark—Tony—he said that a name was really important. I think he's right. I can't just keep calling you suit lady, though. You're way too cool and smart for that."

"If you take a right up ahead," she said. "It will save you five minutes from your current course. I've highlighted the new route."

"See? That's what I mean," Peter said, adjusting his course. "You're so awesome—like Karen was to Plankton. You probably don't know about SpongeBob, huh? Anyway, she like this awesome supercomputer that always looked out for him—always had his back. Hey! That's it! I could call you Karen!"

"That's a lovely name, Peter," Karen said. "You have excellent taste."

He made it to quiet rooftop somewhere just outside of Queens and found a spot to sit, dangling his feet over the edge of the roof. The new suit was so cool. He couldn't get over the information his HUD displayed—distances, altitudes, crime reports. It was all there—even his vitals ticked away in the corner. He was impressed by what Tony had accomplished in such a short time. The man really was a genius.

It made him think of his old friend Ned and how crazy he'd go if he knew Peter what was happening in his life—that he was Spider-Man and Tony Stark had made him a suit. They used to hero-worship the Avengers, talking for hours about what it would be like to know them. Peter missed his friend. He wished he could speak to him, but things were complicated. Peter didn't know how to apologize for disappearing on him like he had. Anytime he thought about seeing him, he would stop himself, unsure what to say—afraid that he wouldn't be forgiven.

There a flash of blue in the distance, catching his attention. "Karen, you see that?"

"Yes, Peter. It appears to have been some type of energy discharge. While you're permitted to investigate, I advise caution."

Peter rolled his eyes. "I think I can handle it. Plot me the fastest course. I want to take a closer look."

He swung his way through the city, slowing as he approached the area. There was another loud explosion and then a flash of light. Someone was laughing. Needing to get closer, he climbed the side of the bridge beside him. He peered around the edge, trying to get a look at what was going on.

Three guys were standing around the back of a van, alien tech out on display. He'd definitely stumbled on something big—really big. A Part of him knew he should call Tony, but another part remembered that Tony was keeping something from him. He would just deal with this on his own.

The guy closest to him shook his head, putting up a hand. "Look, I just needed something to stick somebody up with—not shoot them back in time."

"I got anti-grav climbers?" the guy on the left offers, turning to rummage through the van.

"Those sound pretty cool, but I ain't got no need for climbing shit."

Peter moved to crawl closer to get a better look, but some gravel slipped, falling with little patters on the pavement below. He pulled his head back and tucked into the wall, but it was too late. His spidey-sense was already warning him—he was in trouble.

"What was that? Who's out there?" one of them shouted.

"Did you set us up?" another voice snapped.

"Yo, man, calm down. I swear. I ain't no rat. Don't point that shit at me."

Peter knew he needed to do something. Criminal or not, he couldn't let someone get killed. He let go of the wall, doing a flip before landing with his hands held up placatingly. "Hey, you wanna shoot at someone? Shoot at me."

"Alright," the guy on the left said. He pointed the gun at Peter, firing without hesitation. Thankfully, his senses were sharp, and he was able to move fast, diving and rolling out of the way of the bullet.

Peter was back on his feet in a crouch in an instant, ready to go again. The buyer took off running as thug number one took aim at him again, but he was faster, shooting out a web and snatching the gun before the guy could blink.

He couldn't help but grin. "Not so big and bad now."

Looking back, he should have been watching the other guy better. He might have been able to avoid what happened next. He might have seen the weapon being aimed in his direction before it fired, knocking him six feet back across the pavement.

But he hadn't been watching, so the shot to his shoulder and the pain came as a surprise. His vision went white with pain, his heightened senses enhancing the pain. Even the smell overtook him—burnt flesh and melted plastic. That was the best way he could describe it. Bile rose in his throat.

"What are you waiting for? Kill him."

"Peter," Karen spoke. "Help is on the way."

Peter knew it was a move or die situation. He couldn't stay down. It took everything he had to get himself up. He rolled onto his knees, and shakily pushed up to his feet.

"Give me the gun. I'll do it."

Time was ticking. Gritting his teeth, Peter extended his arm and shot out a web, grabbing the gun from the guy's hand.

"I can do this all day," Peter said, adrenaline the only thing keeping him standing.

"Shit, we gotta go!" Thug number two was suddenly grabbing at his buddy, pulling him toward the van. "Now! Let's go!"

Thug number one seemed to notice whatever Peter was missing and bolted for the van. They were peeling out and around the corner in seconds. It was then that he heard the familiar sound of Iron Man's repulsors—everything made a little more sense after that. He blamed the pain for not noticing sooner.

Clutching his chest and shoulder, he turned to Tony. "You have to go after them."

The faceplate lifted. "No, we need to get you back to the tower."

"You're not listening. They're weapons dealers—alien weapons dealers. We can't let them escape."

The suit opened, and Tony stepped out, walking over to Peter. "You almost died, Peter. I saw how close it came. This wasn't what I had in mind when I said you could go out in the suit. For Christ's sake, you were shot! Your suit is melted to your flesh." His hand hovered over the shoulder wound. It was then Peter noticed Tony's hands were shaking. "We need to get you to Bruce."

"But—"

"No buts," Tony said. "I have a car on the way. We're going home."


	17. Bottom of a Bottle

"Would you stop picking at it?" Tony said, glancing over at him as he paced. "Just sit on your hands or something."

Sighing, Peter dropped his hand. He was sitting on a gurney in the medbay, his mask off, but the rest of the suit still on. The fabric had melted and was stuck to the edges of the burn. It itched as his skin was starting to heal the damage already. He didn't see why he couldn't just peel it off like a Band-Aid and call it good. It wasn't like it would hurt more than when it happened in the first place.

The was a hidden tension in the room. A lot was going unsaid, and it was only a matter of time before one of them cracked. Tony was pacing the floor in front of him. About every third pass, the man would pause, pivot to look at him, and then either shake his head or pinch the bridge of his nose before resuming his methodical pacing. It put Peter on the defensive before anything even had the chance to be said.

Tony finally broke the silence. "I just want to understand," he said, stopping mid-step, turning to face him. "Help me understand. Explain to me why you thought taking on two arms dealers alone was a good idea. Why didn't you call me?"

Peter looked up. "I had it handled."

Tony's eyebrows rose, his head tilting to the side. "Right. You had it handled," he repeated slowly. "You know FRIDAY showed me the footage. You were in way over your head out there. That was exactly the kind of thing I didn't want you involved in. Helping old ladies, rescuing cats, bicycle thieves—that's where you operate. That's your zone. Standing downrange for target practice—not so much."

Peter's hackles rose. It wasn't like he had tried to get shot. He was only doing the right thing. Those weapons were dangerous, and he had to do something; they were about to shoot someone. Tony was so unfair. He didn't get it.

Frustrated, he hopped down from the gurney, grabbing his mask from beside him. "You don't get to tell me what to do. You weren't there. You let them get away!"

"And what would you have liked me to have done? Gone after them and leave you behind hurt?"

"Yes!" Peter snapped. "You should have gone after them. I would have been fine!"

"You really don't get it! I'm trying to look out for you! You're not invincible. You should have called me when you first came across them. Maybe if you had, we'd have them in custody right now, and you wouldn't be in the medbay. Face it, Peter. You didn't think!"

Tony's harsh tone made him cringe. He needed to get away, go anywhere, just not there. He was done trying to talk to him. He moved to step around Tony. "I'm going to my room."

"Oh no you're not," Tony said, stepping into his path. "Sit back down. Bruce should be back any second."

"There's nothing he can do my healing won't do itself."

"Uh, yeah, there is. Unless you want bits of melted suit growing into your skin."

Peter pressed the emblem on the suit, letting it go slack. Before Tony could stop him, he grabbed the fabric and yanked it in one swift move off his shoulder. It took everything Peter had not to cry out in pain. He held his jaw clenched, glancing at the wound. It was bleeding sluggishly from around the edges of the burn. If it weren't for his advanced healing, it would have probably needed grafts. He felt weirdly satisfied with himself.

"Can I go now?"

"Jesus fuck, Peter!" Tony snapped. "I can't believe you did that!" He ran a shaky hand through his hair. "You need to sit the hell down before I call my suit and make you. You're not going anywhere until Bruce checks you over. FRIDAY, tell Bruce to get his jolly green ass in here."

Knowing it wasn't worth the fight, he walked over and sat on the stretcher, slumping with his mask held between his hands in his lap. It wasn't fair that Tony was treating him like a kid, but his aunt had raised him better than to lose his temper like that—even if Tony was keeping something from him. He knew what he had to do, and he didn't like it one bit.

"Sorry," he murmured. It tasted bitter on his tongue.

He heard Tony suck in a breath. He looked up to see the man was visibly shaken. He shook his head. "You can't do that kind of stuff. I know things got heated, but you can't do _that_." He gestured to Peter's bleeding shoulder. "We need to talk about this later."

"Alright." Bruce's voice came from behind Tony. "I got what I need."

Tony ran a hand through his hair again. "He decided to take matters into his own hands. I don't know if it makes things better or worse."

Bruce turned from where he was setting some things down, frowning when he saw Peter's shoulder. "It still needs some debridement." He pushed his glasses up on his nose. "Why don't you lay down, Peter? It'll make things easier."

Peter watched in morbid fascination as Bruce picked at the wound, cleaning the broken and blistered skin. He didn't really mind the pain, though; it was a constant he'd grown to trust. Pain would never leave him. It never lied, and it never left—it was something he could count on being there, and in a strange, twisted way, it comforted him.

Tony walked over and peered over Bruce's shoulder, his face going pale as he watched. Peter could practically feel the anxiety rolling off him. Tony winced in sympathy when Bruce peeled a piece of charred fabric away.

"You should be medicated," Tony said.

Peter shrugged. "It's not that bad."

"Tony's right," Bruce said. "I haven't even had the chance to look into what might work for you, which we really need to rectify as soon as possible—preferably before you need them again."

Tony crossed his arms over his chest. "Which he won't if he sticks to rescuing cats and giving directions."

Peter's face screwed up in a mixture of hurt and anger—the fight from earlier returning to him. He wasn't going to stop being who he was just to make Tony feel better. Spider-Man was more than rescuing cats and giving directions; he protected people. Spider-Man stood between the innocents and the dangers of the city. He wouldn't ever stand by and let bad things happen again. He lost his uncle that way. He just thought Tony understood what he did and why but apparently not.

"Tony," Bruce said, looking over at him, his voice calm yet commanding. "Why don't you go grab some clothes for Peter while I finish up? Try to find something loose."

Tony's face was tight, a mixture of emotions Peter couldn't read. He knew Tony wanted to say more, but Bruce had made it clear the conversation was over.

Bruce looked up to meet Peter's gaze once Tony was out of sight. "He means well, you know."

Peter looked away. "He doesn't trust me out there."

"Try to see it from his point of view," Bruce said. "He thought he might not get to you in time. He was scared."

"If he was scared, then why did he get so mad?"

Bruce sighed. "Because for right or wrong, that's how he deals with fear."

Peter huffed. "He must be afraid a lot then."

Bruce smiled. "More than you know." He paused. "Peter, I know it doesn't seem it, but he really is trying. He cares a lot about you." The doctor took out a tube of cream, applying a thin layer over the site. "Don't go too hard on him."

xXx

With Peter tucked away in bed, Tony sat in his workshop, a bottle of scotch his only company. He felt like he was a complete failure. He'd done what he never wanted to do; he'd acted like his father, arguing with Peter instead of listening. He knew he'd screwed up the moment things started getting heated, but he couldn't seem to stop himself, the conversation unfolding like a train wreck in front of him. Reacting the way he had, with anger and frustration, was all Howard, and now here he was, a spitting image of the man, looking for answers in the bottom of a bottle. The apple didn't fall from the tree.

He heard the door to the workshop open, and he lazily turned his head to look over his shoulder. Pepper was standing in the doorway, head cocked to the side and arms crossed over her chest. She sighed. "Tony, I'd ask what you're doing, but I can see the bottle from here," she said. "Please tell me that wasn't full when you started."

Tony rolled his head back against the chair, closing his eyes. He loved Pepper. She was his everything, but he really, _really_ , didn't want to face her at the moment. He knew she wasn't going to let him wallow in self-pity and drink until he forgot.

"Well?" she prompted.

He opened his eyes and reached for the bottle, swirling what was left. He shrugged. "Is there an answer that you won't yell at me for?"

He heard her sigh, followed by the click of her heels as she walked up behind him. A delicate and well-manicured hand plucked the bottle from his grasp.

"What's going on, Tony?" she asked, walking around him to lean against the workbench.

Tony shook his head. "I keep screwing everything up, Pep—with Peter I mean. I don't know what's wrong with me."

She pursed her lips. "Did something happen?"

Tony sucked in a breath, remembering the night. "He got hurt, and instead of being there for him—listening to him, I just shouted and told him he didn't think." He rubbed a hand over his face. "I did just what my father would have done."

"How badly was he hurt? Is he alright?"

"Physically he's fine," Tony said. "Bruce took care of him."

Her eyes raked over him. She studied him for a minute. He swore he could see her thinking. Her voice was soft when she spoke. "You're not him, you know. From what you've told me, your father was a cold and callous man after losing Steve to the ice. Who you grew up with—he wasn't the kind of man who would take in an orphan. He wouldn't have done what you're trying to do. You're better than him. You're a good man, Tony."

Maybe it was all the scotch, but he found himself tearing up. "I just don't know how to do this. I told Peter I'd be okay with him out there risking his life, but it's a lie, Pep. I'm not okay with it. I don't know how to be okay with him out there putting himself in danger every night." He rubbed the dampness from his eyes. "He's just a kid—a smart, sweet, kid that deserves so much more than me. I still haven't even told him about the guardianship. What kind of person does that make me?"

Pepper blew out a breath. "It doesn't make you a bad person, but you do have to tell him, Tony. It's not something you can hide."

"I know that," Tony said. The guilt of hiding it had been eating him alive. "I'll do it soon. I promise."

"If you need help—someone to be there for support, all you need to do is ask. I'll admit I wasn't sure at first, but after meeting him, I have no doubts. You're not alone in this, Tony. We can do it together."

He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to stop the tears that were starting to fall. He didn't know what he did to deserve a woman like her in his life. She had no reason to stick with him, yet she did, supporting him through all his ideas and insane plans and was always there to catch him when he fell.

"Oh, Tony," Pepper said. "It's gonna be okay. We can fix this." She closed the distance between them, bending down and drawing him into an embrace, resting her cheek against his hair. Tony wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her neck. He choked back a sob. The fabric of her blouse was now wet from his tears. He felt miserable.

"Sorry about your shirt, Pep," he said. "I'll buy you a new one."

She pressed a kiss to his hair. "That's the last thing I'm worried about. I just wish you had called me. You know I don't like it when you do this to yourself."

He pulled back, and she straightened, brushing her thumb over his cheek, wiping away a tear.

"I know," Tony said. "I screwed up. I've been doing a lot of that lately."


	18. Confessions

Tony knew that morning when he woke that he needed to face Peter and have the talk that he'd been avoiding. It was time whether he was prepared or not. Every day he waited added to the tension. He knew Peter sensed there was something between them going unsaid—the kid was perspective. He just hoped he was also forgiving because he knew that pursuing guardianship without involving him was a mistake. Control was something that had been taken from Peter—the ability to choose. He been pushed along through the system, abused and controlled. He hadn't even had a choice in receiving his powers. Tony needed to do right by him, even if it meant groveling a bit.

It was just before noon when Tony had gathered himself enough to go find Peter. FRIDAY had told him he was in the living room of the communal floor talking with Clint. The weaker part of him, the part that wanted to put his head in the sand and ignore the problem, considered turning heel and going down to his workshop instead. There were plenty of things he could find to do, but he knew he couldn't.

The elevator opened, and he stepped out, walking over to the sitting area where the couches and chairs were. Peter was there, head a mess of curls, looking like he'd just gotten out of bed. The edges of the bandages that wrapped around his shoulder were peeking out of his shirt. Tony wondered how they were healing. He hoped Bruce had followed up with him already. He knew it was unlikely, but he worried about infection setting in. Peter didn't need anything else on his plate.

Footsteps came up behind him, and he turned to see Clint carrying a plate piled high with pizza and Oreos, heading toward the oversized chair across from the couch Peter was on. He looked to Tony, shrugging. "What? We're hungry."

Tony put up his hands. "No judgment here."

He watched as Clint set the towering plate of food on the coffee table, taking a seat across from the kid.

Peter had yet to acknowledge him. He wondered if he was still harboring anger from the night before. Tony didn't blame him if he did. There was no excuse for the way he acted. It had been a knee jerk reaction to seeing him get hurt, his worry turning to frustration and anger at how Peter didn't seem to know how easily it could have all been much worse. He should have controlled himself better. The last thing Tony ever wanted in this life was to become like his father. It was a fear that he knew he should share with Peter. He wanted Peter to understand why he reacted like he had—what made him into the man he was.

"You gonna stand there all day or what?" Clint raised a brow, picking up a slice of pizza as he chewed an Oreo.

Tony blinked, looking to Clint. "Care if I join?"

Clint shrugged and tipped his head toward Peter, signaling who he should really be asking. The kid was picking at his sleeve, not looking up. Tony sighed, and Clint wiped his mouth with a napkin, looking to Peter. "I think he comes in peace, kid."

The kid pulled the sleeves of his hoodie down over his hands and then leaned back into the cushions of the couch, his head turning to look at Tony. He didn't look angry. He just looked tired, resigned—like he was waiting for the argument to continue.

Tony ran a hair through his hair, raising his brows. "Can I sit? I promise, no yelling."

Peter looked at Clint.

"I can stay," Clint offered.

The kid nodded and shuffled further to the edge of the couch to make room. Tony walked over, taking a seat beside him.

"I screwed up last night," Tony started. "I have a lot of issues. It's not an excuse, but it is what it is. Seeing you get hurt—it scared the shit out of me, and I got angry at myself for letting it happen, and I snapped at you. I'm sorry, Pete."

He watched Peter as he twisted and toyed with the sleeves of his hoodie, a slight frown on his face. He chewed his bottom lip as his brow wrinkled in thought. Tony gave him time to think, not wanting to rush him.

After a few minutes, Peter spoke. "I'm not mad at you, and you don't need to be sorry. I was being stupid."

Tony shook his head. "Reckless maybe but don't call yourself stupid. You're a smart kid. You just got in over your head."

Peter looked down at his hands. "So, can we forget about it then?"

Tony swallowed, nervous as he tried to muster the courage to confess to the kid. "I think we can do that, but umm ..." He paused, drawing a breath. He scratched at his goatee, wishing for Pepper. He wondered if he should call her first. He let out the breath he was holding, deciding he could handle this on his own. "There's something you should know, and I don't know how to say it. Honestly, I'm worried you're gonna hate me for it, and I don't want that. You gotta know, I did what I did because I care."

He was wringing his hands as he watched Peter's expression become guarded, his shoulders stiffening. Clint cleared his throat, drawing Tony's attention. The archer gave him a 'what the fuck' face. Tony just shook his head and looked back at Peter.

"What are you talking about?" Peter asked. "I don't understand. What do you mean that you did something?"

Tony bit at his lip. "I applied for guardianship of you—and I got it. I planned on telling you, but it never seemed like the right time. I wanted you safe—to have a place to call home. You can start school now, and we won't need to worry about someone coming in and trying to take you away. It's a good thing."

Peter looked to him, brows knit together. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?" The kid was shaking his head. "You should have said something! Why does everyone treat me like I can't make decisions for myself?" He slammed his fist against his leg.

"Hey, kiddo," Clint said. "I know you're upset but try to calm down."

Peter's snapped his gaze to Clint. "Did you know?"

Clint sighed. "I won't lie, I knew, but you gotta understand, just like Tony, I only wanted to help."

The lines of Peter's face hardened, and he pushed himself to his feet, hands balled in fists at his sides. Tony reached out to grab his arm, wanting to comfort him, but Peter pulled away.

Clint stood, putting up his hands. "Let's talk about this, Pete. We know it's a lot to take in."

Peter's chest was heaving, eyes glossy with tears. "I didn't ask for this. I was fine on my own. People who get close—" He ran an agitated hand through his hair. "I can't do this. I won't."

Tony's heart felt like it'd been stabbed. The kid had lost so much that he was terrified to let anyone close again. He couldn't imagine how lonely he must feel. If only he'd give Tony a chance to prove he wasn't going to hurt him. The kid was like a skittish dog—earning his trust felt like taking one step forward and two steps back some days.

He took a step closer to Peter, reaching out to him but not touching. "I'm sorry that I didn't tell you sooner. I really am, but I can promise you, you have a family here with me, with us, with the team. I know you think that you were fine on your own, but kid, you were barely keeping it together."

Peter sniffled and wiped a hand over his eyes. He shook his head. "I need time. I need to think." He began to walk toward the elevators.

"Where are you going?" Tony asked, following behind. "I don't want you leaving the building, not until you're fully healed."

Peter just shook his head and slammed the button to call the elevator. The door opened, and Tony went to grab him, but Clint yanked him back. "Let him go, Tony. He needs space."

Tony shook off the other man, watching as the doors to the elevator closed and Peter disappeared. He spun and shoved a hand into Clint's chest. "If something happens to him, it's on you."

"He's a kid, Tony, and you just dumped a bunch of shit in his lap. He needs room to clear his head. He'll be back—just give him time."

He sucked in a breath, trying to steady himself. "You better be right."

xXx

Tony sat on the worn couch in the workshop, head back and staring at the ceiling. He didn't look over when the door opened, knowing only Pepper could override his lockout.

"I told him." The words seemed to echo in the room.

There was a beat of silence, and then heels clicked across the floor. They stopped, and then the couch cushion dipped as she sat beside him. "FRIDAY showed me the footage."

"Tattletale."

She hummed. "Wanna talk about it?"

Tony shrugged, still looking at the pristine ceiling, wishing there was something to count or stare at besides the lines of the tile. "He's pissed off at me. He left."

Pepper sighed, her hand patting him on the leg. "You did the right thing, and from what I saw, he's not angry—he's scared. You two seem to have that in common, you know—trouble showing weakness, trouble showing fear, being vulnerable. It's easier to be something else."

Tony pursed his lips, turning his head to look at her. She was sitting turned to face him, hair tucked behind her ears and a sad smile on her face. There was no judgment. There never was with her. Like always, she looked at him patiently and with understanding in her eyes.

"You're ridiculously good at this, you know. You'd make a good therapist."

She snorted a laugh. "I'd have to be after all the years of knowing you."

"Very lady-like noise, Ms. Potts." He laughed, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to it. "So, what do we do?"

She leaned more into the cushion, hand still in his. "We wait and let him calm down, then we all talk. I want to be there this time. He's going to be part of my life, too, and I want to be involved."

Tony immediately felt terrible for not involving her more in the past. He'd just jumped in with both feet, not thinking what it'd mean for her. "I'm sorry, Pep. I should have talked to you more, involved you more. Are you even okay with this?"

She reached across him and cupped his cheek, giving him a small smile as she shook her head. "You're incredible, you know that? Despite what you think, I can read you like a book. If I wasn't okay with something, I would have said it. I'm proud of you and what you're trying to do. The only thing I hope for is that I can play a part in his life, too. If you're doing this, I want to do it together."

He took her hand that was against his cheek, pulling it down so he could kiss her palm. He laced their fingers together. "What if he doesn't come back?"

She squeezed his hand. "He will."


	19. Reminders from the Past

Peter half expected the lobby doors to be locked when he reached them, so he was surprised when he was able to escape onto the street. He didn't have his suit or a destination in mind. He just needed space to think. He needed to get away from everyone, so he could wrap his head around what Tony had done—what they had done. His emotions were a mixture of anger and frustration, and whether he wanted to acknowledge it or not, hope, too.

The idea that someone wanted him, that someone might care about him, it brought back memories of a time in his life when things were different. He hadn't felt that way in a long time, and he wasn't sure it was a good thing. The people who cared, they always ended up hurt. He couldn't let Tony, or any of the others, get hurt because of him.

With no suit, money, or web-shooters, he was limited to walking. He let his feet carry him, not thinking of the direction. Thanks to the spider bite, his body didn't tire quickly, and he was able to walk for hours. His stomach began to growl, and he considered going back, but the feeling of hunger, of going without, was a familiar one, so he pressed on.

It was early afternoon, and he was walking down a side street in Brooklyn when he heard a familiar voice slur. It made him go rigid as he spidey-sense tingled, the hairs of his arms and neck standing on end. He could never forget that voice. His heart sped, and his mouth went dry. It seemed ridiculous to react that way. He was Spider-Man. He didn't need to be afraid anymore, but this fear, it was instinctual, trained into him by endless beatings. There was a rushing sound in his ears as he looked to see Jack standing on the stoop of the building ahead of him. Their gaze locked, and Peter knew the moment that Jack recognized him because his face twisted into a sick smirk.

He should have run, but his feet were planted, and his body was unable to move. What kind of hero was he? He couldn't even save himself.

The drunken man looked Peter up and down before sneering, "Well, look at you. Find yourself a sugar daddy to buy you new clothes? More than you deserve. You were always nothing but trouble. Whoever's got you now should be thanking me for straightening you out."

The logical part of him knew not to listen, but the vulnerable part, the part that still remembered what it felt like to be beaten, that part took his words to heart.

The man began to walk closer. Peter stumbled back a step, tripping on his own feet, his eyes wide and heart racing. He froze when Jack grabbed him by the front of his shirt, yanking him forward. He could smell the alcohol on his breath and fading scent of his cheap cologne. It stung his nose. "Ain't you got something to say?"

Peter shook his head quickly.

"Speak, brat. Use your words."

"No, sir."

Jack grunted. "At least you remember something I taught you. You should be thankful. You're thankful, aren't you, kid?"

Peter began to shake, trying to wriggle out of his hold. He shook his head. "No, what you did was wrong. It was—"

"You ungrateful little shit."

His senses were too much of a mess to warn him before it happened, before Jack drew back a fist and it slammed into his face. Maybe it was the shock or the fear, but he didn't try to duck or move as blows kept raining down on him. Peter collapsed to the ground, arms going to cover his face like he had done so many times in the past. His tactics changed, and he began kicking him. Kick after kick stealing his breath. He tried to curl deeper into himself, trying to protect himself from the onslaught.

He could hear a woman yelling for help, and he choked back a sob as the pain flared in his ribs. He wasn't Spider-Man at that moment. He was Peter Parker, the broken kid from Queens. He couldn't even save himself.

He could hear someone shouting for Jack to stop and another voice yelling that the police were on their way. There was one final, hard kick to his head, and then it stopped. He heard a scuffle and Jack swearing as he was presumedly dragged away. There were sirens in the distance, and he knew he needed to get out of there before they arrived.

He pushed himself up on to his hands and knees, arms shaking. Blood dripped down from the cut above his eye and onto the sidewalk. He could taste blood in his mouth, too. Running his tongue along the inside of his cheek, he could feel where it'd been cut by his teeth.

He sat back on his knees, squinting and looking around, bringing up a hand to wipe the blood away from his eye. He spat out the bloody saliva in his mouth and looked around at the small crowd that had formed.

A woman with dark hair tied back in a bun walked over to him, crouching in front of him, her purse clutched between her hands. "He's gone. You're gonna be okay. The ambulance should be here any minute."

He blinked at her, his arms wrapping around his ribs. His gaze darted around, taking in the strangers staring at him. The wound above his eye was still bleeding freely, blood trickling down his face again.

"Is there anyone we can call?" she asked, taking out her phone. "Your parents, maybe?"

He shook his head and climbed to his feet. She tried to reach out to stop him, but he waved her off. He needed to get out of there. He stumbled forward. His first steps were unsteady, but they quickly steadied. The sirens were almost there. He had seconds to make his escape. Police meant questions, and he didn't need that. He pushed himself to keep walking. The woman was calling after to him to stay and wait for help, but he couldn't.

Shoving down his pain, he began to run, and soon he was down the block and around the corner. Every step sent a jolt of pain through him, the people he passed looking at him with concern.

He felt tired and alone. Everything hurt. There was one place he could think to go. It was the only safe place he knew—it just took him facing his past to realize it. He needed to get back to the tower and back to the people waiting for him there.

It was a slow and painful journey. By the time Peter arrived, it was getting dark. He stood at the foot of the tower for a moment, looking up. As much as he wanted to blame Tony, or be angry, he couldn't. He knew the man was only trying to do the right thing, even if he'd messed it up a little on the way. If he were honest with himself, he'd have to admit that he was tired of feeling alone. It had been a long time since someone wanted him, chose him. Maybe he was being selfish, but he wanted to let someone else take care of things for a change. He'd been running and fighting alone for so long.

He wasn't sure if the doors would open for him, but they did. He stepped into the empty lobby, glancing up to the ceiling where he knew FRIDAY was watching. He knew he looked terrible and the AI had probably already notified Tony of his condition. Before he even had a chance to say anything, one of the elevators opened and FRIDAY prompted him inside. He nodded his head to the AI and did as it said. The doors closed, and a moment later, he was moving up.

He wasn't even sure where he was going, but he imagined wherever it was, Tony would be there to greet him. He didn't know what he was going to say—how he was going to explain things. Peter just hoped that the man wasn't mad at him for leaving. He didn't think he could handle another argument—not after Jack. His mind was still echoing fragments of his time with him, Jack's words still hurting him even though he wasn't there.

The elevator stopped, and he braced himself, unsure of what was to come. The doors opened to the communal floor. Tony was standing there looking disheveled, Pepper behind him. The man's gaze quickly flitted over him, assessing, and his eyes hardened as he took in the damage. Peter could see him clenching his jaw. "Who did this?"

Peter took a stuttering breath, remembering the day's events. He swallowed, looking away. His voice was quiet when he spoke. "I didn't mean for it to happen. It was my fault. I should have run."

"Peter, honey." Pepper's voice was gentle as she stepped around Tony. He glanced at her. "No one is blaming you. We just want to make sure you're okay. We've been worried."

He bit his lip. "It's not that bad. Looks worse than it is."

Tony scoffed. "It looks like someone kicked the shit out of you."

Peter dropped his head, arms wrapping protectively around his middle. He sucked in a breath that made his ribs burn, letting it out in a shaky huff. The emotions of the day weighed on him, and he felt himself starting to crumble. Tears he didn't want, tears that didn't have his permission to be there, began to well in his eyes. Blinking, they fell, rolling down his cheeks. He hastily wiped them away, not wanting to cry in front of them.

"Oh, kid." Tony sighed, and then there was a hand on his arm. "Is it going to hurt if I hug you? Do you want to sit down? We should probably sit."

Peter sniffled, looking up. Tony had tears of his own in his eyes, and Peter didn't understand why. "You're crying."

Tony huffed. "So are you, kid."

"But—"

"No, buts." Tony shook his head. "Believe it or not, I'm not as emotionally stunted as you may think. I've been told crying is a normal response to seeing someone you care about hurt, and if you didn't happen to notice, I'm pretty invested in you."

"Oh."

Pepper reached out and brushed a few strands of hair from Peter's face. Peter looked over at her. Her head was tilted to the side, and she had a sad smile on her face. "Come on. Let's go sit and calm down, then we can call Bruce up to look you over. How's that sound?"

Something about Pepper put him at ease, and he found himself nodding, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks. "Sorry I ran away."

"Shhh… We can talk later. Let's go sit." She put a gentle hand on his back and guided him to the couch. Tony followed.

Peter took a seat as Pepper went to fetch some tissues. Tony sat quietly beside him, but Peter knew the man had a hundred questions. Peter worried that when Tony found out what happened, he'd do something terrible, something like killing Jack. He might hate Jack for what he'd done, but Peter didn't want him dead, and he didn't want Tony going to jail for his murder.

A few moments later, Pepper appeared with some tissues and a washcloth. She passed the tissues to Peter and then sat beside him. "Turn towards me. I'm just gonna clean up your face a bit."

He did as she asked, and she began to gently wipe the blood from his face, starting at his cheek. The cloth was warm, and he found himself closing his eyes as she cleaned away the mess. It stung a little as she got close to the cut above his eye, but she was careful.

"There," she said. "That's much better."

He opened his eyes, giving her a hesitant smile. "Thanks."

She smiled back, setting the cloth down on the coffee table. "I just wish there was more I could do."

Her sincerity touched him. It had been so long since someone looked after him like that. It had been since his Aunt May. It felt good to feel having someone care again.

"So, can we talk about what happened?" Tony asked, drawing his attention away from his thoughts.

He adjusted, so he could see Tony. He chewed on his lip for a minute as he tried to think of what to say. "After I left here, I walked for a while. I just needed to clear my head." He found himself curling into himself again. This was harder than he thought it would be.

"It's okay, kid. I promise not to get mad—at least not at you."

Peter nodded quickly, swallowing a lump in his throat. "It's just … I don't know what happened. I was just walking when I saw him, and then it was like I couldn't move."

"Take your time, sweetie," Pepper said.

He took a steadying breath. "It was just like everything stopped, and there I was, just standing there looking at him, you know?" His knee was beginning to bounce nervously. He kept his gaze on his hands in his lap. "He … He started saying stuff to me—like not good stuff—not good at all."

He felt Tony shift on the cushion beside him. "Go on."

He wrung his hands. "You gotta understand. I tried to make myself leave, but it was like I couldn't." He looked to Tony, his lip quivering. "Please believe me. I really did try."

His breaths were coming more as gasps, and the tears were back. Pepper took the box of tissues, pulling a few free and passing them to him. He accepted them with a hiccupped thanks as he tried to slow his breathing.

Pepper's hand rested on his arm. "We believe you, honey. It's going to be okay."

He wiped at his eyes. "He grabbed me and I … I just let him." He looked down at his hands. "I didn't even fight back," he whispered.

"Who was it, Peter?" Tony asked.

He drew in a shaky breath as Pepper gave his arm a squeeze. He looked to Tony, knowing how broken he must look. "It was Jack."


	20. The Genius, the Predator, and the Prey

Tony stood off to the side of the room, one arm around his chest and his other hand holding his chin. Pepper had excused herself to give Peter some privacy and Tony had called up Bruce to take a look at him. He'd locked down the floor after Bruce had arrived, just to be sure no one disturbed them.

He thought he was prepared for anything, but when Bruce helped Peter out of his shirt, he felt rage, hot and wild, burn through him. It took everything in him to keep a calm mask as he watched, giving small smiles and nods of reassurance to Peter whenever the kid's gaze would wander his way.

FRIDAY had given him a brief rundown of injuries when Peter had first returned but seeing it was a different story. His jaw clicked as he clenched and unclenched it, imagining the ways he could return the kindness to the man who dared touch his kid.

No matter how much he wanted to, he knew he couldn't just put on his suit and end Jack's pathetic existence. No, he needed to think. If he was going to do something, he needed to plan it out, and who better than a spy to help.

He reached into his pocket and texted Natasha, brief and to the point. He needed her help. There was trash that needed to be taken out. Stuffing his phone back in his pocket, he watched Bruce feel along Peter's ribs, the kid wincing when he touched a particularly tender spot.

His phone buzzed, and he grabbed it, swiping his thumb on the screen and scanning it. Natasha was en route and asking for details. He messaged back that he'd brief her when she arrived. Putting his phone away, he did his best to smile, walking over to where Bruce and Peter were sitting.

His friend looked up at him from where he sat on the coffee table. His eyes said everything, a glint of green conveying more than words could. Clearly, he wasn't happy about what had been done to Peter, either. Tony hadn't given him all the details when he'd called him up, but he'd given him enough, enough to make Bruce's anger flare.

If there was one thing that the doctor didn't tolerate, it was abusers, and given what Tony knew of his childhood, he understood why. He'd come from a long line of abusive men, angry drunks that lashed out at those they loved.

Tony had read about Bruce's past in the files he'd pulled when he was asked to join the Avengers, and it was there that he'd seen the police report about Bruce's mother, how she was killed by her husband in a drunken rage when she's tried to escape with her son. There had been a picture of a little Bruce clipped to the report. It was then that Tony had decided that he didn't care what anyone said. He was going to befriend him—danger or not.

"How's the patient?" Tony stuffed his hands in his pockets, gaze flitting over the swelling on Peter's face.

Bruce sighed, taking off his glasses and cleaning the lenses on his shirt. "There's not much I can do. FRIDAY says there some hairline fractures on a few ribs, but nothing too serious." He put his glasses back on, motioning to the shoulder that had been burned. "The burn's all healed—faster than I thought. He's got some bruises, but otherwise, he'll be okay. Food and rest."

Peter picked up his shirt from beside him, glancing up at Tony. "Can I get dressed then?"

Tony gave a quick nod, waving a hand. "Yeah, why don't you head back to your room and get cleaned up? I'll have Pepper meet you after. You two can bond over bad reality TV and ice cream. This seems like an ice cream kinda day."

Peter's brow wrinkled as he looked up at him. "I don't like reality TV."

Tony laughed. "I'm sure you'll find something to watch."

Peter began to pull on his shirt, wincing when he had to stretch it over his head. He tugged the hem down and smoothed it out. He looked terrible. There was dried blood all over the front of the shirt and splattered onto his jeans.

Tony found himself staring at the bloodstains, unable to look away, his mind wandering to dark places. It was Bruce's voice that pulled him back from the edge. "Tony, you alright?"

He blinked. "Hmm? Me? Yeah, I'm fine." He pursed his lips. "I've got some things I need to deal with. Can you make sure Peter gets settled, tell Pepper I'll be late tonight?"

Peter's eyes went wide, his fingers twitching against his legs. Tony watched as he swallowed, chewing his lip. "You're not gonna do something you shouldn't, are you? Something Spider-Man wouldn't approve of?"

Bruce glanced up, looking curious to the answer himself.

Tony smile a bit too wide, trying to hide the truth behind it. "You worry too much. I've just got some things to handle."

Bruce sighed and looked back to Peter, patting him on the knee. "I think we should get you cleaned up. I'm sure Tony won't be too long."

Peter looked like he wanted to argue, but Tony raised his brow, and the boy sighed, getting up and letting Bruce guide him out of the room.

Once they were gone, Tony had FRIDAY unlock the floor, and he ran a hand through his hair and then down to his neck. He stood there, head hung and hand holding his neck for a moment while he tried to get a grip. No matter how much he wanted to take off and kill the man right then, Tony knew he couldn't, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to get a hit in. He didn't need his suit to fight. He'd relish the pain in his knuckles from serving Jack a little justice of his own.

The elevator doors opened, and he dropped his hand, turning to see Natasha stepping out. Her hair was tied back loosely, a few strands falling around her face. She was in her tact gear, black Kevlar pants and a tank top, gun in her thigh holster, and Widow Bites on her wrists. She tipped her head to him in greeting, gaze roving over him. "Well, don't you look like shit."

Tony huffed, shaking his head. He scrubbed a hand over his mouth. "Yeah, no kidding. You should see Peter—it's the reason I called you. I knew you might be willing to get your hands dirty for a good cause."

She looked intrigued. "Go on."

"If I tell you, it stays here. No one else needs to know."

She nodded. "You have my word."

He drew a breath, not sure where to start. "Remember Peter's foster dad?"

"Yeah, he used to beat the shit out of the kid. I had to talk Clint down from murdering him one night."

Tony raised a brow. "Really?"

"Yeah, he wasn't in a good place—the anniversary of some bad stuff. He wanted a target, and Jack fit the bill."

No one knew all the details of Clint's early life, but from what he'd read. It wasn't much better than Bruce's. With Peter, they had enough people to start a support group or private club.

Tony let out a breath, head shaking. "Maybe you should have let him."

Natasha's brow furrowed. "What's going on, Tony?"

"The kid—he took off earlier, trying to get some space." He dropped into the chair beside him, putting his head in his hands. He closed his eyes as he thought about what had happened to Peter—the fear and pain he must have gone through. He lifted his head, locking his gaze with Natasha. "Of all the places he could have ended up, he found himself face to face with the douche who used to beat him."

She pursed her lips, crossing her arms over her chest. "What happened?"

Tony flopped back against the cushion. "He got to him, Nat. He kicked the shit out of him until he could barely get up. Bruce and Pepper are with him now."

The lines of her face hardened, and she straightened her shoulders. "How long do we have?"

"A few hours before Pepper expects me back, and I can buy us as much time as we need with the cameras on his block."

She gave a tight nod. "More than enough. Just one question."

"Shoot."

"How far are we taking it?"

Sighing, he pushed himself up from the chair. He walked to the window, looking out. He knew they could do it, and they'd get away with it, but it wasn't the right thing to do—not that what he was imagining was much better. He'd considered just arranging something with the police, so he'd be quietly arrested, but he needed to confront him—to see the fear in his eyes.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he turned to face her. "We'll leave him alive. Peter wouldn't want him dead. FRIDAY's arranging a paper trail for fraud charges and a few other things—should keep him locked up for a while." He set his jaw. "He needs to know what it's like, Nat. He needs to know what Peter felt."

Her lips pressed in a tight line. "We can stop by one of my safehouses and grab some supplies—planting some drugs on the scene will help keep him locked away."

"We should go while we can. Remember—not a word."

Natasha nodded. "I know how to keep a secret."

They took a nondescript car, stopping at her safe house to pick up supplies. She was quick, returning after only a few moments with a black duffel. Tossing it in the backseat, she climbed back in behind the wheel, and they made their way to the address FRIDAY had found for Jack. It was for an apartment in the less appealing part of Brooklyn. They parked a few spots away from the building, turning off the headlights and shutting off the car.

He lived on the first floor, and Tony already had FRIDAY running scans on the building, looking to see if he was home. The light was on in one of the front rooms, casting a faint glow against the curtains.

Tony used his watch to project the layout to the building in front of him. He spun it, looking for the best point of entry. They wanted to make it look like a drug deal gone wrong, not a break-in, and they didn't want to risk being seen. FRIDAY had taken care of the cameras nearby, but someone could still spot them.

Natasha reached out, tapping the display of the layout, expanding it. "Look here." She pointed. "There's an old basement access point. We go in there—no one will be the wiser."

He looked at it and then glanced at the building across the street, watching a shadow move by the window. "Grab your bag. It's time to get this show on the road."

He got out of the car, slipping on a pair of tinted glasses. Walking around the front, he joined Natasha, quickly crossing the street together and moving into the shadows between buildings.

Natasha led the way as they walked to the back of the building. He flexed his hands in and out of fists as he thought of the plan. Memories of the bruises on Peter's body sharp and clear in his mind, driving his every step forward.

They reached the back of the building. Pulling off his glasses and hanging them from the collar of his shirt, Tony looked around. It didn't take long to find the old hatch to the basement. Weeds were growing in front of it, and the bar and lock that secured it closed were rusty with age. He was about to use a gauntlet to pull it apart when Natasha stepped in front of him, putting up a hand. "Let me."

She knelt, pulling a tool from her bag that he assumed was some type of pick, but it turned out to be a tiny laser cutter. He huffed a quiet laugh. "Should have known you'd come prepared."

She looked over her shoulder at him, smirking. "Always am."

The lock broke free, and she pulled out the bar securing the door.

"We're in. Let's go." She dropped the tool back in her bag, zipping it closed. She motioned him forward. "After you."

The basement was dark and wet, pipes creaking and water dripping. There was a faint hum of something in the background. The place was rundown and in violation of more than a few codes, but that wasn't his problem. He stepped carefully around the junk on the floor, trying not to bump into anything. He wasn't sure when he'd last had a tetanus shot.

He felt something tickle his face, and he yelped. There was a cobweb on his face, in his hair. He began swatting at it and swiping his face frantically. "Get it off."

"This is why you'd never make a good agent," Natasha said playfully from behind him.

He turned and scowled into the darkness. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means with some things, you're a force to be reckoned with, but with others"—she motioned to darkness beside them—"you're a chicken shit."

"Whatever, at least I don't have an unreasonable fear of cotton balls."

There was silence.

"I do not."

He wiped a hand over his face once more time to be sure the cobweb was gone. "Deny all you want, but I have trusted sources. It's okay. We all have something."

He heard her huff and then she pushed past him. "Clint's a dead man."

Tony laughed. "So, it's true then?"

Natasha growled, making her way to the stairs up ahead. He followed after her. She already had the door unlocked by the time he was halfway up the steps. She looked back at him, eyebrow raised. "Ready?"

He nodded, all hints of humor gone. They came to do a job.

They found their way into his apartment, clicking the door closed behind them. Natasha tipped her head, motioning to the hall that led to the front of the house. He gave a small nod of acknowledgment and slipped past her. He tapped his watch and pulled up heat signatures for the apartment. Jack was still in the living room. The rest of the apartment was empty. Satisfied, he tapped the display closed and quietly made his way down the hall.

He could hear the TV in the background as he got closer, its faint glow flickering on the walls. He looked back to see Natasha, who had her gun out, giving him a nod.

Stepping around the doorway, he got his first look at the insecure fuckbag they'd come to see.

It wasn't like he'd imagined it would be in his head. Jack didn't jump up or go for a weapon. The guy didn't even notice him. He was just laying there watching an old episode of Scrubs, chuckling to himself as he drank a beer, oblivious to the fact Tony was staring him down.

Tony shook his head in disbelief. He put his hand in his pockets and casually leaned against the doorway. He cleared his throat, watching as the other man's head snapped around, his eyes going wide in surprise. Tony didn't move from his casual stance as Jack set his beer down and pushed himself to his feet, clicking off the TV and tossing the remote in the chair. "Who the fuck are you?"

Tony straightened, head tilting to the side. "Seriously? Do you only watch shit TV? I guess that makes things easier." He stepped into the room, arms crossing over his chest, looking him up and down. "So, tell me, does hitting kids make you feel good? Make you feel like a man?"

"What the fuck!" Jack snarled. "I'm giving you three seconds to get the fuck out of my house."

Tony smirked. "Or what? You'll beat me up for my lunch money? That's all you are, you know—a fucking bully that never grew up."

He could see Jack's jaw working as he clenched it. "I'm only telling you once more. Get the hell out."

Tony shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets. "You don't stand a chance, and besides, I don't think you have the balls. I'm older than your usual opponents. I'm not ten."

He watched in amusement as Jack's hands twitched at his stands. It was clear he didn't know what to make of Tony. He probably wasn't used to a threat, and oh, Tony was a threat.

"What do you want from me? I didn't do anything to you."

Tony studied the other man's face, taking in the slight sheen of sweat on his brow and the way he kept licking at his lips. He was scared, and Tony couldn't be happier.

He smiled, a bit too deadly and a bit too dark. "I thought I explained what you did, but I guess it's probably asking too much for you to follow along—never were the brightest in the bunch were you?" He hardened his gaze. "My problem with you? Oh, that's easy. You hurt my kid."

Jack's face scrunched in confusion. "Who that fuck is your kid?"

Tony held up a hand. "About this tall, brown hair, brown eyes, and didn't deserve the shit you did to him."

"You mean that little brat Peter? He's a liar. Always has been. I didn't fucking touch him, and you can't prove a did."

His jaw ticked. "What did he ever do to you, huh? How many lives have you fucked up, you drunken piece of shit?" Tony was seething. He took the last step between them. They stood inches apart. "You wanna fight someone? Take a swing." He tapped his chin. "Right here. Come on, big man. Hit me."

He watched Jack's Adam's apple bob as he swallowed, but he stayed quiet. Suddenly, he didn't look so sure of himself.

"That's what I thought. You're pathetic. I came here to fight you, but you know what? I don't want to dirty my hands with you. I'll settle for watching you rot in a cell instead."

He watched as a bead of sweat dripped down Jack's brow. The man licked his lips again. "I ain't going anywhere—didn't do shit." He might have been trying to sound threatening, but his tone was shaky and unsure.

Natasha's voice came from behind him. "Oh, I think you'll find that's taken care of, and I have to say, Tony might not want to dirty his hands, but I don't mind."

Jack's eyes went wide, and he took a step back.

Natasha came into view beside Tony. She smiled sweetly at the man, but it was razor-sharp. "You see, my hands will never be clean, so what's a little more red?"

The man looked ready to piss himself, and it satisfied Tony on a spiritual level.

Watching Natasha in her natural habitat was a magical and scary thing. She stalked the room, looking every bit the predator that Tony knew she could be. He knew she wouldn't kill him, but Jack didn't need to know that. She looked at Tony. "It's getting late, Tony. Why don't you head back? I got things from here."

He knew what she was doing, giving him a way out—a way to keep his conscience clear. Things hadn't gone how he imagined, but he still got to see him shake in fear, and he knew before the night was over, Natasha would have him begging. He didn't need to stick around for it. He had a kid to get back to.

He nodded to Natasha and then turned to Jack. "If I were a better man, maybe I'd stop her, but unfortunately for you, I'm not that kind of man."


	21. Finding Home

It was well past midnight when Tony made his way back to the tower. His phone buzzed in his pocket when he got out of the car in the garage. Pulling it out, he saw it was a message from Natasha. Everything was taken care of, and she was on her way back. It felt like he could breathe again for the first time in hours. The stress of the day had taken its toll on him. He was exhausted, and now that Jack was taken care of, he was ready to collapse. Dropping his phone back in his pocket, he made his way to the elevator. After a quick word with FRIDAY, he was on his way to the floor he shared with Pepper and Peter.

Yawning, he walked out of the elevator and onto their floor. It was large and open, not much different than the communal floor in that there was a central sitting area towards the middle of the space. His eyes traveled over the room, stopping when he saw Pepper on one of the couches, Peter curled up beside her with his head resting on her leg. She was carding her fingers through his hair, looking down at him with a gentle smile.

He crossed the room, taking in the scene, not able to contain the small smile from tugging at his lips. She looked perfectly in her element—like mothering him was something she'd always done.

Pepper looked up from Peter's face when Tony sat on the couch across from her. "Should I ask?"

He clasped his hands together in his lap, shrugging. "Depends if you want the truth."

She sighed, nodding her head, brushing a stray hair from Peter's forehead. "Fair enough."

The echoes of the attack were still present on Peter's face, though the swelling was nearly gone. It still made Tony grimace to see. Watching him sleep, he looked even younger, the lines of worry he was used to seeing were smoothed away. It made his heart ache for everything he'd gone through. "He looks peaceful."

Pepper glanced over at him, hair falling from behind her ear. "He does, doesn't he?"

xXx

The smell of food cooking tickled Peter's nose, and he scrunched his face, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. He turned, trying to bury his face in his pillow, not ready to face the day. The light coming through the windows was starting to annoy him, so he pulled the blanket over his head, groaning.

A voice called from the kitchen. "Is that my favorite Spider-baby waking up?"

Tony was way too chipper for whatever time it was. What time was it? He flipped the blanket off his face and looked around, just noticing he was on the couch. Blinking wearily, he rubbed his eyes and yawned. "Not a baby."

"Maybe not, but you are adorable. Did you know that you talk in your sleep?"

Peter pushed himself up, looking over the back of the couch toward the kitchen where Tony was cooking. The man was grinning back at him. Peter rolled his eyes and flopped back down, regretting it as soon as he did. It jostled his ribs and stomach, making him grunt in pain.

"Breakfast will be done soon," Tony said. "Scrambled eggs and some frozen waffles. I was gonna make bacon, but Pepper banned me since the incident."

Peter tossed his blanket off and climbed to his feet, walking around the couch. Resisting the urge to cradle his ribs he looked to Tony, raising a brow as he scratched his head. "The incident?"

Tony shrugged, plating some eggs. "It involved a lack of pants and a small fire—actually, this probably isn't a story I should tell you." He looked thoughtful. "Anyway, no bacon. Get over here. Food's ready."

Peter plodded over to the kitchen, pulling up a stool and taking a seat. Tony slid a plate in front of him, handing him a fork. "Dig in."

He poked at the eggs suspiciously before stabbing some with his fork and taking a bite. Chewing slowly, he considered. They weren't terrible. Swallowing, he gave Tony a nod of approval. "I didn't know you could cook."

Tony shrugged, taking his own plate and circling around the counter to sit beside Peter. "I let people think what they want. If people knew, they'd put me on rotation for dinners, and there's a difference between being able to and wanting to."

Peter made a noise of agreement as he shoveled more food into his mouth. After taking a sip of his orange juice, he looked to Tony, studying him. He wondered if he had gone to see Jack, and if he had, what he'd done. He might have let his gaze linger too long as Tony raised his brows, his fork hanging halfway to his mouth. "Something up? Food on my face?"

Peter shook his head and looked away. He didn't know what to say—if he even wanted to know the truth. It might be better not to. Could he look at Tony the same way again if he did? What if he had done something awful, something unforgivable? His mind chased scenario after scenario.

"What's wrong?"

Sliding his plate away, he rested his elbows on the counter, putting his head in his hands. Fingers knotting in his hair, he turned his head toward Tony a little. "Can you do me a favor?"

"Anything, kid."

He dropped his hands, lifting his head to meet Tony's gaze. "I know the look you had. Whatever happened last night … don't tell me, okay? Let me pretend nothing happened."

Tony's gaze flitted over him, and then he nodded. "Okay." He reached over and gave Peter's shoulder a squeeze. "Yeah, maybe that's a good idea."

He let out a breath as some weight lifted from him. "Thanks."

Tony motioned to his plate. "You done eating? You didn't finish."

He nodded. "Yeah, thank you. It was good."

Tony grabbed their plates, scrapping them in the trash and dropping them in the sink. He turned and leaned against the counter, taking a dramatic breath and clapping his hands together. "So, I have a big meeting today. I debated on telling you, but I thought it would be fair to keep you involved."

Peter's brows pinched, concerned what the man might say. "Is it about the guardianship? Because I thought it was already done."

Tony put up a hand, shaking his head. "No, nothing's changed with the guardianship. This is a meeting with the FBI about the alien tech. They got a lead and are going to set up a sting—they want a few Avengers there for when things go down."

He opened his mouth to speak, to tell Tony he'd volunteer, but the man was quick to cut him off. "Nope, don't even think about it, kiddo. Your suits not even fixed yet."

Peter's mouth snapped shut, and he scowled.

"Now you just looked like an angry puppy—like a retriever who just lost his favorite toy. Don't be grumpy. It's for your own good. You need some time to rest anyway."

Peter huffed. "It's not fair. I've been involved in tracking them the longest. I should get to be there."

"The Rolling Stones said it best—you can't always get what you want." He shrugged. "I'll let you know how it goes. If things fall through, then maybe I'll let you help the next time."

His shoulders slumped. "Fine."

"I mean it, Peter. I'll keep you informed, but you need to trust that I'm handling this."

He nodded. "Will you be fixing my suit soon?"

Tony scrubbed a hand over his mouth, not making eye contact. "Yeah, I'll take a look at it. Give me a few days."

It didn't sound convincing. Peter wondered if Tony was putting it off on purpose—afraid to see him hurt again. Injuries were always going to be part of the job and something Tony had to come to terms with.

Looking down at his watch, Tony rubbed his eyes. "Alright, I gotta run. Stay out of trouble. Bruce is in his lab if you want to do some science. I'm not sure where everyone else is, but I'm sure you'll find something to do."

Peter didn't see Tony again until later that night, but true to his word, he explained what had been said in the meeting. They were setting up for the deal to go down on the Staten Island Ferry. Tony didn't give many details, but Peter was okay with trusting the man to handle it—not everything needed to be his job. It might be time to start to listen a little more and stop rushing in without plans. He'd been doing it alone long enough. Maybe it was time to lean on others a little.

The next few days were uneventful, mostly spent watching Tony work with Bruce in his lab. They had been working on developing a pain medication that was compatible with Peter's metabolism. Tony had proved to be surprisingly good at taking blood.

"Am I good, or am I good?" Tony pressed a piece of gauze to Peter's arm. After a few seconds, he lifted it and then tossed it in the trash, turning to Bruce. "Two vials of spider juice. Where do you want it?"

Bruce turned, brows lifting. "Set them with the other samples by the centrifuge."

Tony nodded and put the samples in the holder. Sighing, he put his hands on his hips, looking to Peter. "So, while Brucie discovers all the magic that is your genetic code, how about you and I work on some science of our own?"

Peter looked at him, skeptically. "Like what?"

A smile spread across Tony's face. "Ever built a bot?"

The rest of the day was spent huddled around a table of parts, Tony patiently answering questions and teaching him coding. The way Tony spoke, it drew you in. He found himself learning new ways to do things, better ways, ways that made so much more sense. Time passed quickly, and soon, Pepper was there nudging them to take a break for dinner.

The woman raised her brow, hands on her hips with head tilted to the side. She chewed her lip. "That's very … creative."

Tony scoffed. "It's ingenious is what it is. Right, Pete?"

Peter's eyes went wide at being put on the spot. He glanced at what was left of the coffeemaker. "It's pretty cool?"

"See? Cool, Pep."

"It shocks people."

Tony held up a finger. "No, it shocks Clint."

She shook her head. "I think you mad scientists need a break. Dinner is ready. I expect to see you up there in ten." She pointed at both of them, eyebrow raised. With one last shake of her head, she smiled and turned, heels clicking behind her as she left the room.

Peter and Tony looked at each other, and then to the coffeemaker, before snorting in laughter.

After dinner, Peter, Tony, and Pepper settled in on their floor for some quiet time. It was nice, comforting, but he still found himself nervous. After a lifetime of loss and broken promises, he was wary of things taking a turn. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't quite relax and let himself be happy, too scared the other shoe was about to drop. Pepper seemed to notice as she looked over at him while they were on the couch, her eyes crinkled as her gaze flicked over him.

"Peter." Her voice was soft. "You know that we aren't going anywhere, right? You can let your guard down. It's safe now."

He took a stuttering breath and nodded, her words meaning settling over him. It was okay. He was safe there. He picked up the remote. "You wanna watch a movie with me?"

She smiled warmly, her eyes glistening in the light. "I'd love to."

Somehow over the next two hours, he'd ended up sprawled across the couch with his feet in Pepper's lap, a bowl of popcorn balanced on his chest. He was more than happy that the bruises from Jack were gone and the bowl was only a comforting weight. When Tony strolled in later, he plopped down in one of the chairs and joined them, trying to grab the popcorn from him. Peter laughed, holding it out of reach and then throwing a piece at him. "Make your own. I'm sharing with Pepper."

Tony put a hand on his chest with a mock gasp. "You mean I'm not your favorite?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "It's not nice to make kids pick between parents." He froze after he said it, hand halfway to the bowl. He stiffened and went to draw his legs back from Pepper's lap, wanting to escape, but her hand grabbed his shin, holding him in place.

"Stay," she said, voice soft, "please, the movies not over yet. Remember what I said? You're safe here."

He relaxed back into the cushions, her hand staying on his leg. Something warm began to stir in his chest. It had been so long since he'd felt it, he almost didn't recognize the feeling. It wasn't just happiness or the tendrils of comfort he felt. It was something more—it was the beginnings of love.

-The End-


	22. Glimpse at the Sequel

Peter had been down in the lab with Bruce when he came to the communal floor in search of Tony, but instead of the genius, he'd found Steve. The soldier looked all wrong. His eyes were cast down to a book in his lap, but it didn't look like he was reading—his gaze was distant. He didn't even seem to recognize that Peter was in the room. He wasn't sure what to do. He and Steve got along, but they weren't close—not like he was with Tony, Clint, or Pepper.

Worrying his lip, he made his decision. Making sure he was seen and heard, Peter made his way across the room, hesitating when he got to the couch. "Umm … do you … uh …" He sighed, shoulders dropping. "Can I sit?"

Steve looked up at him, blinking. His brows knit together for a moment before smoothing out. He nodded, closing the book in his lap. "Yeah, sure. Sorry, I got lost in my head for a minute."

He took a seat. It was awkward, his back was too straight, and he drummed his fingers on his legs. "So, what were you reading?"

Steve's lifted the book, showing the cover to him. The title read The Photographic History of Captain America and Howling Commandos. "There were some pictures in here I hadn't seen before." He placed a hand over the book, looking up at Peter. "You wanna see some?"

"Yeah, yeah, that'd be pretty cool. I was never really into history, but yeah, I'd like that."

Steve's mouth quirked into a smile, and he nodded. "I got more pictures in my room, but we can start with this." He opened the book and flipped through the pages, finding a picture of himself before the serum.

Pete's eyebrows shot up. "I can't believe that's you. I mean, not in a bad way. Sorry. I didn't mean to sound—"

Steve laughed. "It's fine. I was as scrawny as they came back then. History didn't exaggerate that part."

He listened with rapt attention as Steve told him stories of his childhood. He imagined a younger Steve, all skin and bones, fighting off bullies in back alleys, his best friend Bucky coming to bail him out whenever he got in over his head. They might have not shared blood, but it was clear he and Bucky were brothers in every sense of the word, so it was only a matter of time that after Bucky enlisted, Steve would find a way to follow.

"So, that's when I met Doctor Erskine. He saw something in me, gave me a chance. I jumped at it. I didn't want to sit by the sidelines when other men died—not when I could be doing something."

"Did it hurt? The serum?"

Steve chuckled. "Yeah, you could say that."

Peter looked down at his hands where they were clasped in his lap. "My change hurt, too—like my body was being shredded and put back together."

Steve drew a breath, nodding slowly. "Sounds about right. I'm sorry you had to go through that. It's really unfair. I signed up for it. You didn't."

"Yeah, but I'm glad I can help people."

Steve smiled. "You're a pretty good kid." Glancing back down, he continued, "Now, where were we?" He flipped the page. There were photos of weary-looking men marching alongside tanks. "This is when things changed."

The story of how 107th had been captured unfolded. He told him how Tony's father had flown him through enemy lines, about freeing the soldiers and finding Bucky.

"—and the first coherent thing he said as I got him to his feet was 'I thought you were smaller.'" He shook his head, laughing. "I'll never forget the look on his face. For the first time, I was rescuing him."

Turning the page, he paused. The same distant expression he wore earlier was back.

There on the page was a picture of Steve with another man who looked strangely familiar—he studied it, trying to understand what he saw.

The two men in the photo were standing side by side, goofy smiles on their faces. One was Steve, looking younger and more carefree, and the other, Peter recognized from his time on the streets, though how it was possible, he didn't understand. It had to be a coincidence—relatives maybe. He set the thought aside and continued to listen.

"And this guy here is Bucky," Steve said, tapping the page. "He was my best friend and a good man—the best kind of man. Always had your back." He the corners of his mouth turned down. "I watched him fall."

He knew what it was like to lose someone, the gaping hole it left behind. "I'm sorry."

Steve smiled weakly. "It was a long time ago."

"Not for you."

"No, I guess not." He sighed. "He would have liked you, you know, especially the part where you stick to walls and shoot webs. He always loved that kind of stuff."

Peter chewed his lip, still looking at the photo. "Did he have kids or a family?"

Steve turned his head, frowning. "No, never got the chance. Why?"

Peter shrugged. "He just reminds me of someone. This guy I met—they could be twins. He was homeless like I was—always kept an eye on me."

"You never mentioned him before."

Peter shrugged. "Didn't really think it was important, but seeing the picture reminded me."

Steve tilted his head. "He never hurt you, did he?"

His eyes went wide, and he shook his head. "No, never. He looked out for me. He was grumpy sometimes, and maybe not all there, but nice enough. He always made sure no one bothered me."

"That's good that you had someone."

He smiled. "Yeah, James was pretty great. There was this one time, it was freezing, and he stuffed newspapers in my boots to help keep my feet warm." Peter laughed. "Said he used to do it for another punk he knew. Odd guy. Anyway, it doesn't really matter."

He looked to Steve, whose mouth was pressed in a tight line.

"You alright?" Peter asked.

Steve blinked, his Adam's apple bobbing. "You said his name was James?"

He nodded. "Yeah, why? You know him?"

Steve looked back to the picture in his book, fingers tracing Bucky's face. "Maybe I'm going crazy." His brow furrowed as he studied the photo. "I didn't tell you, but Bucky's real name was James. When we were kids, whenever it snowed, he'd line my shoes with newspapers, too." He shook his head. "And every time I called him a jerk, he'd always call me a punk right back."

Peter blinked and glanced down at the picture again, trying to bring a clearer mental picture of James to his mind. There was no doubt—they were identical. The only difference was the haunted, hollow look that the man Peter knew carried with him. Peter licked on his lips and flicked his eyes back up to the super-soldier. "You think he's …"

Steve rubbed at the back of his neck. "I don't know. It's just kinda crazy to think." He dropped his hand. "Wishful thinking, I guess. It doesn't matter. Bucky's gone. I saw it happen."

Peter glanced down at the photo again. It didn't seem possible, but he knew faces, and the man looking back at him was too familiar. There had been aliens and gods and a soldier being thawed from the ice. Was it such a stretch to think Steve's friend could be alive?

He glanced at Steve. "I know where to find him if you wanted to go, even just to put your mind at ease—so you can sleep at night."

Steve touched the photo again, silencing stretching out between them. Finally, he spoke, something to his voice Peter couldn't quite name. "Yeah, it wouldn't hurt to just see him."

Peter nodded. "Yeah, sure. We can go tomorrow."


End file.
